


Ascent

by arifail



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Alternate Universe, Fairy Tale Elements, Galra Keith (Voltron), Kidnapping/Imprisonment, Lotor is a bad guy, M/M, Mild Gore, Original Galra Characters - Freeform, Sort Of, Soulmates, Violence, cryostasis and poor life choices, keith has no chill, more about galra society than you probably ever wanted to know, more character death, prequel to VLD, pureblood galra racism, so none of the rest of the crew are here, turns out lance has no chill either, unnamed character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-03-13 15:10:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 76,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13573179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arifail/pseuds/arifail
Summary: Assigned to Prince Lotor's command, hybrid-galra Keith will let nothing get in the way of his mission.Nothing, that is, until a figure behind a wall of glass catches his attention and won't let it go. Lotor's prisoner changes everything, and for the first time in his life Keith's priorities aren't so clear.Lance's story, of Lions and paladins and legendary defenders, sounds too fantastic to be true but Keith can't deny the draw he feels to the strange alien.There's no way this is going to end well.A prequel to the show that should lead neatly into canon events, with the exception of Keith's and Lance's backgrounds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to fill the Fairy Tale spot on my bingo card before it got wildly out of hand. Based very loosely on the story 'Verde Prato Giambattista Basile' but other than some imagery, there's really none of the source material left.
> 
> There are some fairy tale tropes involved, including: a creepy, slimy villain, some trolls, love at first sight, a big baddie, and a happy ending.
> 
> I've almost finished writing it, and chapters will be posted weekly. I was hoping to beat the season 5 premiere but that's no longer looking like an option. Bummer.
> 
> This story is intended to flow neatly into the show, with the exception of The Rise of Voltron, which will have to be worked around to fit in Keith and Lance's backgrounds and relationship.
> 
> For Brittany and Caitlin, for whom I would fight a dozen angry galra in a dimly-lit cafeteria with zero hesitation.

Keith licked salt and dust from his lips and wondered if this was the worst assignment he’d ever been given.

The air in the coliseum was thick and caustic. It tasted like iron on his tongue and reeked of unwashed bodies and excrement and fear. The heat in the massive room was oppressive, made worse by the heavy air and the sheer number of screaming spectators packed into tiered stands that rose steadily towards the high ceiling on every side of the recessed gladiator’s pit. The roar of the near-rabid crowd was deafening, an almost living entity in the enclosed space.

Keith adjusted his stance and checked that both his sword and rifle were in easy reach. His ears ached from several varga spent folded beneath his helmet, the long hair under them matted with sweat. He could feel it dripping down the back of his neck.

Posted at one edge of the rectangular arena where he could look down on the skirmishes, it was Keith’s job to make sure none of the gladiators made any ill-advised attempts at freedom. Most of them saw Keith and the other galra soldiers around the pit and knew better than to attempt to scale the walls, but he’d had to put particle burns in the limbs of a few desperate would-be escapees. The ones he crippled never survived their matches, but the assembled horde of onlookers didn’t generally care who spilled the blood that saturated the coliseum as long as it didn’t run dry.

He’d barely finished shifting positions when a scream rent the air, clear even over the thunder of the crowd’s response. A tick, and then it cut off in a spray of blood. Arterial - Keith could tell from the bright vividness of the color and the way, for a brief moment, the fount of it seemed endless. It was one reaction nearly every species shared, one of the very few that seemed to be universal.

A phoeb ago, he hadn’t known that.

He settled the stock of his rifle against his shoulder and curled his finger over the trigger guard. In his sights, the four-armed vanquisher retched down the front of their purple prisoner’s rags, offering no resistance as a pair of sentry-bots tugged the bloodied blades from their hands and shackled their thick wrists together. Keith watched as the gate in the far wall of the arena clanked upwards so the victor could be led away and replaced by the next pair of combatants.

A phoeb ago he hadn’t known to train his gun on the winner, to watch for the animal panic that sometimes overtook someone after they’d been forced to slaughter a friend to save themselves. Sometimes they looked down at the fresh corpse on the dirty floor, the splatter of blood and gore and wasted life across unforgiving grey steel, and decided galra weapons were a kinder fate than another round in the gladiator’s ring.

A phoeb ago, Keith hadn’t noticed the heat or the smell, too caught up in the horror evoked by the barbaric spectacle, the terror on the combatant’s faces.

The onlookers began to chant in anticipation, their bloodthirst only exacerbated by the previous displays, and Keith knew this was the worst assignment he’d ever been given.

 

XX

 

Located on the fringes of the Galra Empire, the entire surface of the planet Torpar VII was covered in a vast, barren desert. Sparkling pink sand spread out as far as the eye could see, interrupted by enormous violet crystalline structures that broke through the ground from deep beneath the earth and stretched towards the pale yellow sky like clawing, skeletal fingers. The heat was intense at all hours but most dangerous during the day, when the rays from the local star would reflect and refract off of the shining grains of sand, superheating them to hazardously high temperatures. When the sun reached its highest point in the sky, the light brightened to such an extreme degree that the sand glowed like brilliant pink neon, capable of damaging the eyes of anyone who looked upon it for too long.

Constructed in this unwelcoming environment and under the command of the exiled Prince Lotor, the coliseum of Xorekar Station didn’t draw the number of spectators that the gladiator arena at Galra Central Command did. It boasted a handful of fighters who had won often enough - had survived long enough - to have a semi-loyal following, but nobody on the scale of the Grand Champion Myzax who, last Keith had heard, remained undefeated. The base was first and foremost a military installation, and most of Keith’s time was spent running drills or patrolling the station. Lotor preferred living galra soldiers to the sentries his father favored, which made Xorekar one of the most heavily populated garrisons of its size in the empire.

Keith eyed the bowl of clumpy gray nutrient goo an apathetic server had handed him with distaste, tipping the dish slightly and watching the viscous almost-liquid slide down the inside curve to pool in a jiggling pile on the other side. After a long shift spent pacing the base’s corridors, alert for anything out of place, the _stuff_ the dining hall tried to pass off as a meal was especially unappealing. Patrol assignments were boring beyond belief and required constant focus, emphasizing just how long each dobash dragged before tipping over into the next. Keith had once considered them the worst kind of chore, but after his first night spent standing guard in the arena he’d stopped mentally complaining about the tedious duty. Keith would gladly spend entire movements patrolling the barren, scorching desert outside the base’s walls if it kept him out of the coliseum for even one bout manning the gladiator’s ring.

Regardless, he didn’t think a decent supper was too much to expect.

Keith made his way to his usual table at the far corner of the large room, hooking his ankle around one of the uncomfortable purple chairs and dragging it into position so that when he sat he was boxed safely in on either side by dark, solid walls. This arrangement left him with a clear view of the hall’s entrance, the serving line, and the room’s other occupants. He propped his leg up on one of the free seats pushed in at his otherwise empty table and dug his spoon into his goo, which slid away as if actively attempting to escape being eaten and splashed against the bowl’s edge.

A flash of memory hit him, a sobbing figure scrambling desperately up the arena’s walls, and his stomach turned. Resolutely, Keith tried again and forced himself to swallow the unappetizing mouthful.

It was later than most of the soldiers on base preferred to eat and there were only a dozen or so diners scattered around the rest of the room. The middle table was the most crowded; a handful of galra in the unarmored uniforms of non-combatants were clustered around two almost comically large officers currently engaged in what was, from what Keith could make out, an inappropriately loud bitch-fest about Prince Lotor and all he stood for. Keith had never personally met the exiled prince, but from what he’d been told and everything he’d overheard he’d gathered that the emperor’s son was a gifted and charismatic leader who inspired a surprising amount of loyalty among the soldiers under his command.

The details of Lotor’s exile were not widely known, but Emperor Zarkon was evidently content to allow him control over troops that officially belonged to the empire’s forces. By all accounts, Lotor followed the Galra Empire’s prime directive of conquering as much of the universe as could be reached, and he was known to bring entire planets to heel with impressive effectiveness.

It was the prince’s status as a half-breed and his preference for giving other mixed-blood galra command positions over his forces that most pure-blooded galra took exception to.

In his time stationed on Xorekar, Keith had learned that the soldiers in Lotor’s charge could be sorted into three distinct classifications: half-breeds like Keith, who were largely looked down on by a race that favored purity amongst their bloodlines; unambitious soldiers and officers who were content with positions that offered little chance of advancement and didn’t care too much about blood status; and pure-blood supremacists sent to serve under half-breeds as punishment.

The noisy group at the center table very obviously fell into the third category. Keith ate his dinner and kept an ear on the pair of ringleaders as they listed everything wrong with the way Xorekar was run and boasted loudly about what would be different if they were the ones calling the shots. The primary changes seemed centered around shipping all the half-breed galra off to work slave’s positions in the empire’s mines and replacing them with sentry-bots.

Keith was impressed by the sheer lack of creativity the officers displayed and wondered idly how they’d ever managed to get promoted above floor scrubbers. He scraped the last of his nutrient goo off of the edge of his bowl with genuine relief and stood to deposit his used dishes in the large bin next to the serving station.

Keith was careful to turn his face away from the central table as he drew near but kept a watchful eye on its occupants; he was aware of the exact moment they noticed him. He watched them take in the messy black hair on top of his head, the slightly too-high position of his fluffy ears, and the red lines that bisected his cheeks. He kept his body loose and ready as the loud-mouthed pair stood, pushing their chairs back with jarring scrapes that seemed to echo in the suddenly silent hall. At their full height, they each had at least a head and shoulders over him, and the larger of the two was nearly twice as broad in the chest as he was. Fortunately Keith, unusually small for someone with galra blood, was no stranger to going toe-to-toe with bigger and stronger opponents.

“You there, mongrel.”

There was a growl in that rumbling voice, and Keith drew in a deliberate, deep breath. The officer was clearly itching for a fight and Keith wanted to give it to him, eager to see blood spilling out of someone that deserved to bleed for once. He forcefully reminded himself that a disciplinary strike in his file would do him no favors towards achieving his mission’s objective.

He took another step and congratulated himself silently on his self-control. If his body shifted its weight in preparation to attack or parry a blow, well, he’d been trained for and actually engaged in combat his entire life. Some responses were ingrained. A second voice followed the first, the smaller officer speaking up.

“Throzt is talking to you, half-breed. Or are your misplaced ears as useless as they are ugly?”

_‘Is this guy serious?'_  a part of Keith’s mind asked incredulously, and then he mentally shrugged and tossed his admittedly weak restraint out the airlock. At least in his report he could say he’d tried. In one swift movement, Keith spun, hurling his dirty dishes at the bigger of the two - Throzt’s - face and driving a vicious kick into the belly of the other, forcing the air from him and knocking him backwards over his chair.

Keith settled easily onto the balls of his feet as Throzt recovered from the unexpected bowl-spoon attack and snarled, lashing out with a fist as big as Keith’s head. His movements were powerful but slow and clearly telegraphed; Keith sidestepped the blow easily, bringing his own fist down sharply on his opponent’s extended elbow. The galra howled in rage as the joint folded, and Keith’s second punch caught the base of his exposed throat. He staggered but didn’t go down, and Keith had to throw himself backwards to avoid an unexpected jab towards his own head. The second galra had re-joined the fray, and his fist clipped Keith’s chin when he didn’t dodge quickly enough, disrupting his balance so that he tripped over a chair and nearly fell.

Regaining himself with the swiftness of a lifetime of practice, Keith kicked the chair towards the unnamed aggressor and grinned ferally when he again ended up on the floor. He turned his attention back to Throzt and lunged forward, intending to take advantage of the big galra’s injured arm, when a hand closed unexpectedly around his elbow and yanked, sending Keith hurtling forwards and down just in time to catch Throzt’s fist with his face. The upwards force of the blow sent Keith flying head-first over the table behind him.

Stupid mistake, expecting the onlookers to stay out of the fight. Keith allowed his momentum to carry him all the way over, ending crouched on his feet facing Throzt. Warmth dripped down from his nose, and Keith could taste blood in his mouth. He brought his hands up, preparing to fight despite the ringing in his ears as his smaller opponent climbed back to his feet and took a position next to Throzt. Keith eyed the other galra surrounding them, unsure which had interfered, and growled a warning. He was very much outnumbered, and kicked himself for not taking the lackeys into account when he’d decided to rise to the pair’s bait.

“What in Zarkon’s name is going on here?”

The sharp words sliced through the air with the sudden violence of a whip crack and Keith’s body straightened immediately to attention as Lieutenant Commander Aiphos stalked into the dining hall. The crowd of onlookers parted for her as easily as flesh under a torturer’s knife, hurriedly raising their fists to their chests in salute. Aiphos ignored them, her gaze fixed on Keith. A pair of aides clutching glowing datapads flanked her on either side.

Keith swallowed the blood in his mouth and consciously refrained from folding his ears to his skull in a show of nerves. A half-blood galra, the commanding officer of Xorekar Station stood only a hands-breadth taller than Keith himself. Her features were all characteristically galran with the exceptions of the inky black eye staring blankly out from the center of her forehead and the three limber tails that curled from the base of her spine.

Keith had only seen her a handful of times, almost exclusively from a distance as she observed the soldiers’ training and drills. She hadn’t attended any events at the coliseum since he’d arrived and on the one occasion he’d encountered her in the halls of the base she’d swept past him so quickly he’d barely had time to snap out a salute before she was gone, the click of her heels echoing in her wake.

Even such limited contact was enough to make Keith certain that Lieutenant Commander Aiphos was not a woman he wanted to tangle with if he could at all avoid it. Her penchant for cruelty was almost legendary; quite a feat amongst the officers of the Galra Empire, who were not known for their kindness. Her preference for corporal punishment was a recorded fact.

Aiphos came to a stop at the head of the short table separating Keith from Throzt and his companion. Her face was coolly impassive as she regarded the three of them, assessing. No one seemed to know for certain what that eerie third eye was capable of, but Keith could feel its appraisal like a physical touch, slimy and cold over his exposed skin.

“When I ask a question, soldier, I expect an answer.” Directing her statement towards Keith, Aiphos tilted her head, a predator determining if the creature in her sights was worthy of being prey. The hair down Keith’s spine rose beneath his uniform and he hurried to respond.

“Yes, sir. A disagreement, sir.”

The corner of Aiphos’ mouth curled upwards. Even her smile was razor-edged. “A disagreement,” she repeated, sounding amused.

“The half-breed got uppity,” the smaller and, Keith mentally noted, obviously less intelligent of the two officers spoke up. “Throzt and me, we had to put him in his place.”

Aiphos tipped her head the other way and some of the tightness in Keith’s shoulders eased as she directed her attention away from him. “In his place.” The levity was immediately gone from her voice. Golden eyes blinked slowly. The black one did not. “Who, again, are you?”

In his first display of common sense, the dumber galra shivered. “Corporal Lethox. I transferred here a movement ago from a cruiser under the command of Commander Movoth.”

Aiphos hummed. “I remember now. And this makes you the one who came with him, I suppose?” Her gaze flicked to Throzt.

“Sergeant Throzt, also previously under Commander Movoth’s command.” The massive galra’s fist remained pressed to his chest in a salute. Keith was maliciously pleased to note that he had to support his injured elbow with his other hand to keep his arm raised.

“That fool Movoth is so fond of sending me his refuse,” Aiphos said coolly. “Usually I don’t mind tearing it apart and sending it back to him but I don’t have the time right now. The three of you will report to your direct superiors for additional training time. It is clear to me that you lack discipline.”

Keith let out a quiet, shaky breath. Training drills were a blessing in comparison to the whispers of the horrors inflicted on those the Lieutenant Commander took the time to punish personally, and he wasn’t the only one who knew it. Lethox actually slumped in relief.

Aiphos sneered at the pure-blood’s response but continued, “There is no place for such displays on Xorekar Station. Everything must be orderly. Disciplined. Perfect.” A strange fervency was creeping into her voice and her tails writhed in the air behind her, coiling in on themselves and sliding over one another. “Prince Lotor has sent word. He will be arriving within the movement.”

Anticipation zipped down Keith’s spine like an energy beam, and he fought to keep his expression neutral. Lotor was finally returning to his primary base! Keith had been waiting for the prince to make an appearance eagerly, unable to begin his mission in earnest while Lotor was absent.

It was clear Aiphos was anxious for him to return as well. The stories of her cruelty were surpassed only by those of her zealous, borderline fanatical devotion to Lotor. Keith had heard once that she’d gained her position as commander of the prince’s primary base by slaughtering everyone Lotor promoted to it until he’d had no choice but to grant it to her.

Seeing the manic gleam in her eyes - all of them - as she spoke of his impending arrival, Keith could almost believe it.

“Should any disagreements of this nature take place while Prince Lotor is on this base, I will personally see to it that all parties involved are incapable of disagreeing with anything or anyone again.” There was ice in her voice, cold and sharp enough to tear skin and freeze blood. The seriousness of her threat was very clear.

Chilling ultimatum delivered, Aiphos turned on her heel and stalked from the room without another word, the aides scurrying after her.

Silence hung in her wake for several long ticks and then, slowly, the diners returned to their seats. Keith kept his eyes on Throzt as he made his way to where his dirty bowl rested, upended, beneath an empty table.

“This isn’t over, Mongrel,” the big galra rumbled when Keith passed him, and Keith growled but nodded in acknowledgement as he finally disposed of his dishes and exited the dining hall.

It wasn’t until much later, when he was tucked into his bunk in the darkened barracks, that Keith allowed his bloodied lips to twist into a ferocious smile. His orders were to get close to Prince Lotor, and soon he’d finally - _finally_ \- be able to begin actively working towards that objective.

 

XX

 

Keith stared down the rifle’s sights at his target, his eyes flicking over weak spots and vulnerabilities. The weapon hummed in his hands like a living thing, responding to him immediately when he curled his finger around the trigger. The gun fired, three violet beams, one after the other; they buzzed as they tore down the training center’s firing range to blast in quick succession into the simulated target at the end.

A readout flickered to life on the waist-high console in front of Keith, red characters detailing the results of his shots. Only the first blast, intended for the holographic enemy’s soft belly, had found its mark. The second had inflicted a superficial graze on the target’s shoulder that the heat from the beam would have immediately cauterized; painful, but unlikely to slow an experienced fighter down. The third had been a kill shot, as it was meant to be, but only because it had burned through his target’s throat, half a head lower than the space between the eyes he’d been aiming for.

Keith slammed the rifle onto the console, snarling in frustration, and raked a clawed hand through his hair. He glanced at the console’s display, where a line graph illustrated his results over the last few varga of practice. His expression soured at what he saw there, but there were signs of gradual improvement. At least all three rounds had landed on the target in his latest attempt.

Just over four full quintets had passed since his encounter with the idiot twins and Lieutenant Commander Aiphos in the dining hall, but Keith was no closer to figuring out how to go about completing his objective than he’d been the entire phoeb since he’d been given his orders.

“Get close to Prince Lotor. What does that even _mean_?” he muttered under his breath, entering a series of commands into the firing lane’s control console to reset his target and picking the rifle back up.

Keith drew a slow breath, letting his mind clear of everything but the flickering image at the far end of the range. He sighted down the gun, finding his marks once again: gut, heart, eyes. He fired. Three squeezes of the trigger, three violet beams - one kill shot. Keith groaned. His fingers itched for his sword; he didn’t much care for guns.

‘ _Get close to Prince Lotor._ ’ The order itself was fairly vague, but Keith knew his ultimate goal was information, knowledge. His mixed heritage had made him ideal for the assignment despite his temperament, his commander had told him as much with what Keith considered to be insulting emphasis on the second part.  He didn’t think he needed to be friendly to spy on someone.

But then, how?

Keith stared blankly at the console’s suggestions for improvement, lost in thought. He wasn’t a member of the custodial crew, and asking to be reassigned would be more than suspicious. He doubted scrubbing floors and emptying waste would give him much opportunity for information gathering anway. Keith could admit that he lacked the skills to charm the prince into viewing him as a confidante, and creeping around after him, listening through doorways and from dark corners, was unlikely to yield much result beyond Keith’s getting caught, tortured, and summarily executed.

There was a solution, Keith knew that there was. He just couldn’t see it. Not yet.

The sound of hurried footsteps approaching his position - the last lane in the range, furthest from the entrance and well away from the heavy traffic area in front of the weapons’ lockers - yanked Keith from his thoughts. He spun, ears perked and rifle raised, to meet the wide yellow eyes of one of the Lieutenant Commander’s aides. Keith recognized him, and the datapad he clutched to his chest like a shield, from the incident in the dining hall.

“Keith?” the aide asked. He had to clear his throat twice to get the word out, and looked oddly relieved when Keith nodded. “I’m Aide Virek. The Lieutenant Commander asked me to find you?” His voice, a little high and breathy, turned the statement into a question, and he still held his datapad like it could protect him. Virek shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable, and his gaze jumped back and forth between Keith’s face and the barrel of the gun still aimed at his chest.

Keith started and lowered his weapon, a little sheepish. Aide Virek was jittery, whip-thin, and always looked one bad startle away from crawling out of his own skin. Keith felt a little bad for scaring him, though the suspicious part of him wondered how much of the other half-blood’s demeanor was an act. He spent every day scurrying after Aiphos, after all; he’d likely witnessed more nightmare material than even the coliseum could produce.

“The Lieutenant Commander wishes to speak to you, in her office,” the aide said. A chill crawled down Keith’s spine. Had Aiphos decided he’d gotten off too easily for his fighting the other night? He was in the range well past dinner time as part of the additional training his captain had assigned to him, but the punishment was little more than a slap on the wrist by anyone’s standards, much less someone with a reputation like the Lieutenant Commander’s.

His ears flattened into his hair in response to his discomfort and some of the concern he was feeling must have shown on his face, because Virek offered him a small, encouraging smile. It was an odd gesture that did little to reassure Keith, but he schooled his features into a neutral mask and nodded again.

“I need to put this away,” he said, indicating the beam rifle he was still holding.

“Of course,” Virek agreed. “I’ll wait for you by the door.” He hustled off, clearly not expecting an answer. Keith watched him rush across the large room to the door’s access controls, where he came to a sudden stop and began rapidly tapping at his pad.

Keith kept one eye on the strange galra as he signed out of the firing lane’s console and made his way to the weapons’ lockers along the wall to return his practice gun. Aide Virek ceased his typing abruptly when Keith joined him and cleared his throat again.

“I’ll escort you to her office, shall I?”

Keith fell into step beside him as the aide led him swiftly out of the training compound and down the long hallway towards central command. Unease curled, icy, in his gut, and he was grateful the other half-blood didn’t seem interested in talking as they moved through the mostly empty corridors of the station.

Almost too soon, they rounded a corner and came to the door barring access to the offices of the senior command staff. Aide Virek pressed his palm to the blinking red panel set into the wall beside it and the heavy steel door slid aside with a pneumatic hiss. The hallway beyond seemed more menacing, somehow, than the ones they’d just passed through; the familiar purple lighting had a blue cast to it and the air was unnaturally cold and still, a stark contrast to the rest of the desert base.

Keith’s heart beat anxiously against his ribcage and his palms itched. He wished he could draw his knife; the idea of facing Aiphos unarmed made his insides squirm unpleasantly.

Oblivious to his companion’s discomfort, Virek set off down the dimly lit corridor at a brisk stride and Keith steeled himself to follow. He had never been in this part of Xorekar Station, and made a mental note to detail it in his next report.

There were four doors leading off of the hallway they were in: two for each side, and all of them protected by palm scanners. Past the doors, the hall intersected another that ran perpendicular to it, and Virek and Keith took the right corridor, which traveled a short way before terminating in a heavy steel door similar to the one they’d passed through before. There were no identifying marks or labels that he could see, but Keith was certain that Aiphos’ office was just beyond.

Virek pressed his palm to the security panel then stepped aside so Keith could enter first. The office was cold and sparsely furnished. Several large screens lined one brushed-steel wall, blinking through various live feeds of the station, and a pair of glowing violet consoles hummed in a corner. Lieutenant Commander Aiphos was seated behind a large, curved desk, its surface lit with holographic controls, reports, and readouts. The red light of the interface highlighted her face from beneath, warping her features into a menacing mask and reflecting in the oily pit of her third eye.

She didn’t look up at Keith as he entered, or as Virek took up a post in the far corner of the office and became immediately absorbed in his datapad once more. Keith kept his face carefully blank as he came to attention in front of the desk, fist pressed to his chest in salute.

Aiphos made him wait like that for several long dobashes, and the apprehension he’d been feeling was joined by a hot spark of irritation he was forced to suppress. Eventually, the Lieutenant Commander drew one clawed finger over her desktop, dragging a file from the outside edge until it came up directly in front of her. She scrolled quickly through it, tapping at a few relevant sections, then leaned back in her chair and fixed her eyes on Keith. Like the first time, Keith could practically feel that third eye’s assessment like a physical touch, but he was prepared for the creeping, slimy sensation and stubbornly repressed the shiver that attempted to crawl down his back.

Without warning, the door behind Keith hissed shut, trapping him in the small room. His ears flicked towards the sound and his shoulders tightened. The corner of Aiphos’ mouth curled up, pleased with his response, and the unease curling in his gut thickened into the beginnings of dread.

“You are a half-breed galra, Keith?” she finally asked him.

Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Keith nodded. “I am sir.”

He’d always considered his mixed heritage to be fairly obvious; though his small stature wasn’t unheard of for galra, his messy black hair and exceptionally mobile ears were generally a dead giveaway. His coloring was also unusual: the standard dark purple fur lightened to pale lavender closer to the midline of his body, and thin lines of red sliced down his forehead and cheeks from his hairline. Beneath his uniform, similar lines curved from the hollow of his throat down either side of his chest and carved a short track down from a small dimple low on the center of his belly. His facial features were unusual for a galra, the bones in his cheeks softer and his nose not quite as flat as most tended to be.

“Your sire’s species is unknown to you.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, but Keith nodded again anyway.

“That’s correct, sir.”

Aiphos hummed and the smile ticking in the corner of her mouth grew, twisting her lips into a fang-baring grin. “It has been my experience that such a mystery can offer invaluable advantage. Neither allies nor foes will know exactly what you are capable of.”

Without conscious decision, Keith’s gaze tracked to the center of her forehead. The eye there glistened wetly, still reflecting the red light of the desk’s interface. Aiphos’ grin widened even further.

“I am not the only one who sees the worth in our kind’s unique traits. Prince Lotor knows the value of our people: the danger we can present, the power we can bring to bear. He is one of us, after all.” Her voice had taken on that fervent note of worship Keith remembered from the dining hall. He shifted uncomfortably, wondering again why he’d been summoned. Aiphos seemed far from displeased with him, her posture non-threatening, almost relaxed.

“Your direct superiors report to me that you’re an exceptional fighter. You favor the sword?” The abrupt change of topic threw Keith, but he nodded cautiously.

“I prefer a sword to a gun, sir.” Aiphos snorted, tapping at the file on her desk.

“So I see from your range scores.” Keith’s cheeks warmed. “And apart from the incident I interrupted in the dining hall, your disciplinary record remains clear.” He tensed at the mention of the fight but Aiphos was already moving on. “Your file reports that you’re assigned to guard the pit during gladiator events. What are your feelings on the coliseum’s entertainment?”

Keith’s ears twitched and his stomach rolled in confusion. He didn’t understand, couldn’t see where Aiphos’ line of questioning was going. Why the sudden interest in him? Had she somehow found out who he was? Was this a trap? He glanced at her third eye again, wondered if she could somehow sense if he lied.

In the face of fear and uncertainty, Keith’s temper flared to life. “The spectacle in the coliseum every movement is a waste of time, manpower, and able-bodied slaves,” he started, voice hard. “It’s also a security risk. Letting several thousand civilians onto the base on a predictable schedule is practically an open invitation for attack. We may like to believe Zarkon’s rule is unquestioned but rebel factions exist and we are at the far reaches of civilized space.”

It was more than he’d meant to say and he snapped down on his tongue with enough force to draw blood. His superiors had warned him that his temper was the biggest threat to the success of his mission and he hadn’t heeded them.

But Aiphos was smiling. “A realist,” she murmured, her tails coiling around the arms of her chair. She tipped her head in that familiar, predatory motion she seemed to favor. “And remarkably well informed. I quite like you, Keith.”

Keith froze, unsure how to respond. This was not at all what he’d expected when Virek had approached him with orders to report immediately to the Lieutenant Commander’s office. He snuck a glance at the aide, who was staring at his superior over the top of his datapad in blatant surprise.

His eyes snapped back to Aiphos when she leaned forward in her seat, watching him, her gaze intent.

“As we speak, Prince Lotor’s cruiser is approaching the docking station above Torpar VII. He will arrive in the primary landing bay via shuttle shortly after dawn tomorrow. I am assigning you to his personal guard.”

Keith was certain he’d misheard. Something about his demeanor - probably his shell-shocked expression - must have conveyed his confusion because Aiphos frowned.

“This base is crawling with guards, armed with guns and more than capable of protecting our prince from a distance, but your skill with a sword makes you uniquely suited to guarding his person from closer threats. Two of his royal guard will be accompanying him, as always, but a representative of Xorekar Station would not go amiss.”

Keith found his voice. “Of course, Lieutenant Commander. I’m humbled to be chosen for and entrusted with such a task.”

It was the right response. Aiphos smiled, the expression indulgent. “It is an honor,” she agreed. “Have you met our prince?” At the shake of Keith’s head, she continued, “He is a being without peer. Your time spent in his presence will likely alter the course of your entire life.”

A strange feeling came over Keith. There was something powerful about the words, as if by speaking them she’d somehow guaranteed that they would come to pass. The fine hairs along his spine stood on end and his right hand curled into a fist, aching for the familiar weight of his blade.

Ignorant of his reaction to her statement, Aiphos straightened in her chair. For the first time since Keith had entered her office, her demeanor shifted into something truly dangerous. The first hint of a threat entered her voice, lending her words a razor’s edge.

“Do not disappoint me in this, Keith. Should Prince Lotor report to me that your performance was anything less than exemplary, I will make you wish your mother had never laid eyes upon your sire. I’ll cut away the parts of you that are not galra and leave whatever is left to the gladiator’s ring.”

It was more promise than threat, Keith knew, and fear seized his gut with frigid claws, but it was also the first thing Aiphos had said that was entirely in line with what he expected of her. It was a strange comfort; if she hadn’t threatened him with some horrific fate Keith would worry she had somehow suspected his true motives and was trying to trick him.

“Yes Lieutenant Commander,” he stated, letting his nerves show in his voice and the flattening of his ears to his head.

Aiphos bent again to her desk, satisfied her message had been received. “Virek will escort you back to your barracks and give you your new orders. You are dismissed.” She didn’t look up again as her aide scrambled forward and opened the door with a swipe of his hand but Keith was certain he could feel the weight of her third eye’s regard on his back until he and Virek rounded the corner, leaving the way they’d come.

The journey back to the barracks passed in a blur as Keith processed the events that had occured in Aiphos’ office. He’d been assigned to Lotor’s personal guard. It was the opening he’d been looking for, the answer to his question that he hadn’t been able to find - how to get close to Prince Lotor. As a bodyguard he would be spending most of his time in the prince’s presence, closer to him than he could have ever hoped he would get.

‘ _All thanks to my hot-headedness,_ ’ he thought, smug and almost giddy. ‘ _No one will ever believe a fight in the dining hall landed me a job as the prince’s bodyguard._ ’

He came to a halt when Virek did, just outside the soldier’s barracks. “A new suit of armor will be delivered to you in the morning,” the aide informed him. “You are to report to the primary hangar by the fifth varga to prepare for the prince’s arrival.”

Keith nodded to show he understood and the thin aide offered him a tiny smile. “Congratulations,” he said, his voice quieter. “The Lieutenant Commander is difficult to impress.”

“Thank you,” Keith replied, uncertain how else to respond. The aide dipped his head and hurried off and Keith watched him go, resolving to keep an eye on him. His motives were a mystery and that made him a potential threat.

Keith’s quarters were quiet when he entered them; most of the soldiers who shared the space were still out about the base, working or enjoying what little free time they could find. He gathered his sleep clothes and made his way to the sonic showers. They, too, were empty, and Keith stripped off his uniform and wiped the accumulated sweat and pink desert sand from his thin fur without giving the actions much thought.

His mind replayed the events in the dining hall, shooting range, and Aiphos’ office, carefully looking for connections he may have missed. He reviewed what he knew about Lotor, and Aiphos, and how recent events fit into that information. He thought of Aiphos’ face when she spoke of the potential of half-breeds, her use of words like ‘we’ and ’our’, her disgust with Lethox and the way she had called the blood purity elitists sent to Xorekar ‘refuse.’

Apparently, Aiphos had appreciated a scrappy half-blood willing to take on a crowd of pure-blood bigots, and had felt Lotor would as well.

He scrubbed the grit from his long hair, careful to clean out the sensitive shells of his ears, then pulled his clothing on and returned to his bunk. Keith had been trained to take advantage of any sleep he could get, regardless of circumstances, and though anxiety and anticipation warred in his gut he was out as soon as he pulled the scratchy gray blanket to his chin.

 

XX

 

The next morning, the screen built into the headboard of his bed lit on a timer a few ticks before the fourth varga. It began to blare a quiet alarm a moment later, rousing Keith instantly. He reached up, slapping it into silence before it could disturb the others in the room, and sat up, stretching his back as much as he could in the small, enclosed space of his bottom bunk. He glanced at the time displayed on the little interface and jolted when he remembered why he was up so early.

Prince Lotor would arrive in a few varga. Keith was to act as his personal guard.

He rolled out of bed and stretched properly, the diamond plate floor already warm beneath his feet; the day would likely be scorching hot. Keith grumpily questioned the wisdom of building a military garrison on a desert planet as he fished an undersuit out of a drawer built into his bunk and tucked his feet into his boots.

The hallway to the communal washroom was lit only by the violet emergency lights that lined the walls on either side and Keith didn’t encounter any of his fellow soldiers as he prepared for the day. The stillness was a little eerie, and though he knew there were guards patrolling the halls and a hundred other workers going about their daily tasks throughout the base, Keith felt like the only person in the entire station.

It struck him then, for maybe the first time, that if anything went wrong, if he were somehow discovered, there would be nobody to have his back. That he was truly alone.

Keith growled and shook his head roughly, frustrated by his own train of thought. He had known long before he’d accepted his mission what it entailed. What the risks were, what it all meant. What it was for.

He passed a pair of armored galra on patrol outside the dining hall and willed the signs of life to quell the lonely feeling that was making his chest ache.

The morning nutrient goo was pale blue and clumpier than the usual dinner fare, and somehow it managed to taste even worse. The anxiety and anticipation of the night before were back with a vengeance, twisting his stomach into tight knots. Keith managed half a bowl of his breakfast before giving up and heading for the armory. There was half a varga before he was expected in the primary hangar.

True to Aide Virek’s word, there was a new set of armor waiting in Keith’s gear locker. The soldiers under Lotor’s command wore suits that were closer to black than the dusky purple of the standard army, the emblems on them a bright blue. Keith’s new outfit sported additional orange accents at the throat and joints.

Keith fit the pieces over his slate gray bodysuit, appreciating how light they felt. It was armor he could move easily in, and there were smooth grooves built into the backpiece that were designed to hold his sword. The armor was clearly custom and crafted from higher quality materials than the standard soldiers’ gear.

A glance at the time told Keith he needed to report to the landing bay and he armed himself quickly, slotting his sword into place and holstering a pistol on the outside of his thigh. He knelt to conceal his knife in his boot. He straightened, adjusting the fit of his left gauntlet so it sat more comfortably over his knuckles, then left the armory.

Aide Virek scurried over to Keith as soon as he entered the enormous hangar, already brandishing his signature datapad.

“Good morning,” he greeted, sounding flustered. “The armor looks good. Does everything fit alright?” The words spilled out in a jumbled rush and Keith stared blankly for a moment before his mind deciphered their meaning.

“Yeah. It’s fine,” he said, curling his hand into a fist to demonstrate. The fingers folded neatly, his movements unimpeded.

Virek nodded distractedly, eyes on Keith’s hand. “Excellent. Lotor is expected halfway through the sixth varga. You’re to report directly to Aiphos once she arrives. She’ll formally introduce you to the prince and from that point onward you will answer directly to His Highness. He may wish to have your quarters moved closer to his own for convenience, in which case someone will be sent to gather your personal items for you.”

Keith nodded. He was glad his knife was on his person. The blade was the only thing of value he owned and something nobody could know he possessed. It would mean a painful end for him if it were seen.

“It will make my job protecting the prince easier,” was all he said.

Virek surprised him by snorting. “Prince Lotor is not someone who needs a bodyguard.” His tone was unusually frank and Keith blinked at him, startled. The aide flushed under his dark fur and when he continued, he stuttered a little, sounding more like the nervous creature Keith knew him as. “I only mean that he’s a very skilled fighter. You should probably be uh. Expect to be bored, I mean.”

Keith nodded slowly, thrown off more by Virek’s behavior and confession than by the warning that Lotor could take care of himself. He’d already been briefed on the fact that Lotor was, in fact, an exceptional swordsman and that the half-blood females who made up his royal guard were formidable in their own right. He was here for information, not entertainment.

The silence stretched awkwardly between them. Keith really wasn’t sure what to say and the other half-blood wouldn’t even look at him, fiddling nervously with his datapad. Keith shifted his weight between his feet and curled his fingers as if he were gripping his knife, uncomfortable.

He had never imagined he would be grateful to see Lieutenant Commander Aiphos before, but there was a first time for everything. He blew out a relieved exhale as she entered the hangar, moving towards Keith and Virek with purposeful strides. Her second aide, a towering half-galra with bands of shockingly green scales around their serpentine neck, kept easy pace behind her, datapad tucked under one long arm.

Keith snapped to attention as Aiphos drew near, and she surprised him with a nod of acknowledgement.

“You’re prepared to begin your new posting?” she asked him. Maybe he was getting used to her third eye, because when she flicked her gaze over his new armor the expected feeling of icy slime on his skin never came.

He answered her question with a quick, “Yes, sir,” and she turned her attention to Virek.

“Is everything in order?” When he responded in the affirmative, she turned sharply on her heel. “Come.” She motioned to them to follow and set off to speak with the main officer of the flight deck.

Keith accompanied Aiphos as she finished overseeing the final preparations for Prince Lotor’s arrival with an exceptional attention to detail. By the time the sixth varga rolled around, the front half of the landing hangar had been cleared of vehicles and filled instead with blocks of soldiers. There were nearly five thousand full- and mixed-blood galra based at Xorekar Station and Aiphos had summoned nearly half of them to greet the prince.

Keith had to admit it was an impressive show of force. If her aim was to display to Lotor his army’s might, she had chosen an effective means of doing so. With the enormous hangar doors opened, the first rays of the sun shone on the soldiers’ polished armor, making the lines of them gleam like the edges of blades. The ranks seemed to stretch back forever, framed by the handfuls of fighter ships parked on either side of the bay.

It was a stark reminder that, exile or no, Prince Lotor commanded a force to be reckoned with.

One of the aide’s datapads dinged with an incoming notification and Aiphos motioned her captains to bring their soldiers to attention. Keith, standing a few paces behind her, placed his fist over the center of his chest and lifted his ears, settling his body into a position of parade rest.

As the sun rose, the heat increased rapidly. Beyond the stretch of paved land just outside the hangar doors the pink desert sand was already gleaming, reflecting the early rays of the sun’s light and magnifying their intensity.

The silence in the bay was broken when various flight officers began calling to one another, following protocol for an approaching vessel. If he squinted into the light Keith could just make out a dark shape high in the sky, growing rapidly larger.

Within a few dobashes it had landed, the pilot skillfully setting down so that when the access hatch at the back slid apart and the boarding ramp lowered, the first thing the disembarking passengers would see was the standing army, laid out and gleaming, waiting to greet their prince.

In front of Keith, Aiphos had gone utterly still. For what felt like a lifetime there was no movement, the primary landing bay entirely silent. Keith wasn’t sure anyone was so much as breathing. Finally, two female half-galra emerged from the shuttle and took up positions on either side of the access ramp, facing the assembled troops. A slim figure stepped from the craft.

Keith’s first thought upon seeing Lotor, Prince of the Galra Empire, was, ‘ _H_ _oly hell, he’s naked._ ’

The prince was wearing armor, of course, in a style similar to Keith’s new set, but the purple skin of his exposed face and neck was smooth and nearly completely hairless. Long white strands grew from the top of his head, similar to Keith’s own, and thin lines of hair arced over his blue and yellow eyes, but he was entirely without fur.

Keith had expected Lotor to be a lot of things, but never had he imagined him _naked_.

Lotor paused at the top of the ramp and raked his gaze over the assembled ranks of his soldiers. A pleased smile curled his thin lips, revealing pointed fangs. “Most impressive,” he declared, his voice strangely accented and unexpectedly warm.

Even from his place behind Aiphos, Keith could practically see the charm dripping from the prince’s elegant form. The reports and rumors hadn’t done the power of his personality justice. Something about it put Keith immediately on edge; he resisted the urge to tap his heel to feel the comforting shift of his knife beneath his boot.

The prince finally descended the few strides to the floor of the hangar and Aiphos stepped forward to greet him, Keith following dutifully behind her.

“My prince,” Aiphos breathed, kneeling at Lotor’s feet. Keith bent into a respectful bow and held the position for a tick before the prince bid both half-galra to rise.

“Lieutenant Commander Aiphos!” Lotor greeted her, still smiling. “This is a truly inspiring welcome. You do not cease to impress me.”

Keith watched with a sort of unnerved fascination as the fearsome commander of Xorekar Station shivered with glee at the prince’s praise.

“You honor me with your words, my prince. I have prepared a full report of Xorekar’s status for you, and will of course be available to aid you in any matters that may arise.”

“I’d like to tour the base, I think,” Lotor said, his sharp eyes taking in the assembled troops, the fighter ships in the back of the bay. “Have my things moved to my quarters and allow these soldiers to return to their duties. Then you may accompany me on my inspection.”

Aiphos gave a dignified nod but the restless writhing of her tails betrayed her excitement at the prospect of personally guiding Lotor through the station. Keith thought he could see amusement in the prince’s narrow blue eyes as he watched his officer.

Those eyes flicked abruptly to Keith and Lotor raised one thin brow in question. Aiphos immediately motioned Keith to step forward.

“Prince Lotor. There is no question that the Generals Zethrid and Acxa are fierce and capable protectors, but I felt I would be remiss in my duties if I did not offer you one of Xorekar’s own to guard your safety while you reside on the station. Keith is skilled with the sword and has a keen eye.”

The larger of the generals - as massive as Sergeant Throzt and infinitely more intimidating - eyed Keith and snorted rudely, crossing her arms over her broad chest. Her companion silenced her with a cutting look, but Keith could sense the smaller general sizing him up as well.

Keith's temper sparked, too accustomed to being underestimated, but he reminded himself that it would serve as an advantage in his current situation if they did not suspect what he was capable of.

Lotor ignored his guards’ responses. “Keith, was it?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Keith’s hand itched for his knife. The prince’s attention made his skin crawl with an intensity that even Aiphos’ third eye didn’t achieve, and the hair along his spine stood on end. Keith’s instincts recognized a predator, and he did not trust Lotor’s charming facade.

“You’re of mixed blood,” Lotor stated confidently. “And you’ve somehow earned Aiphos’ approval. I judge this more than enough recommendation of your worth. I have need of a third set of eyes to watch out for my interests.”

Something about the phrasing was off to Keith, but it was neither the time nor place to question it. Keith bowed again. “You honor me, Prince Lotor.”

The prince nodded solemnly. “And you honor me with your service.” He turned his attention back to the Lieutenant Commander. “Thank you, Aiphos. I can find my quarters on my own. I will send for you shortly.”

Aiphos snapped a quick salute, acknowledging the dismissal, and moved to her waiting command staff. Within a dobash, the gathered soldiers began to systematically disperse, returning to their assigned duties throughout the base.

“Most impressive,” Lotor repeated, before he addressed his guards. “Acxa, if you would take Keith to retrieve the Chamber, Zethrid and I will go ahead to my quarters. There is much to prepare.” The smaller of the generals nodded, a serious expression on her delicate features.

“Where would you like the Chamber stored?”

Lotor paused in thought. “There are unused suites in the hallway off of my rooms. Select from those.”

Acxa nodded and turned on her heel, marching purposefully back to the shuttle they'd arrived in. Keith had to hurry to catch up with her as she stepped up onto the boarding ramp.

The interior of the craft was nothing exceptional.  Empty harnesses hung from the shuttle’s curved walls above benches that lined either side of the small space, and the display on the front view screen had been dimmed, the pilot’s seat unoccupied. Keith hadn’t seen anyone else exit the shuttle and wondered if it had been Lotor or one of the generals that had steered the ship into such a masterful landing.

The doors to the small cargo area were protected by the usual palm scanner, so he was surprised when Acxa was prompted to enter a six digit code as well before they slid aside. The added security was unusual enough to peak Keith's curiosity.

“This is the Chamber,” Acxa informed him. He couldn’t decipher her tone, sharp and a little dry. “It is currently among our prince’s most prized possessions. Its safety is paramount.”

Keith stepped forward, eager to discover what someone like Lotor would value so highly. Taller than Keith and slightly wider, the Chamber resembled nothing so much as an elaborate coffin. It appeared to be made from indigo-tinted glass, carved into facets that captured the soft violet lights of the shuttle’s interior and refracted them again and again so that the entire thing seemed to be sparkling. Behind the surface, opaque purple fog swirled slowly, teasing Keith with flashes of an incandescent aqua glow and a dark, vaguely galra-shaped figure.

The air around the Chamber was shockingly cold on his face when he leaned in closer, straining to make out the features of the figure within through the undulating mist. He caught a glimpse of a long, straight nose and the sweep of dark eyelashes over a blue-tinted cheekbone before whatever was inside was obscured again.

No, not whatever. _Who_ ever. The Chamber housed an alien, unlike any he’d encountered. His ears folded against his head, uncomfortably cold. It was a cryopod, he realized, more advanced than Keith had ever seen or heard of before.

Acxa stepped around him and Keith moved out of her way, watching with interest as she called up a holographic interface on the Chamber’s right side and entered a quick command. The cryopod rose into the air with a quiet hum of propulsors.

“Stand on the other side and help me guide it,” Acxa ordered. “The glass is delicate, we musn’t allow it to run into any walls. Lotor would likely have our heads if we caused any damage.”

Keith moved to do as he was told, struggling to resist the powerful urge to gaze into the fog again. Another flash of brilliant blue caught his attention before vanishing. Keith grit his teeth and forced himself to focus as he followed Acxa to the shuttle’s loading doors and down the ramp.

Something about the figure behind the glass called to Keith; he could feel the draw like a gentle tug inside his chest. Almost without thought, he laid his gloved fingers on the Chamber’s chilled surface. He sensed that whoever was contained within was vitally important, and every instinct he had was screaming at him.

“What’s inside?” He decided, after much internal debate, that it was worth the risk to ask. Acxa turned her head to look at him as they entered the housing section of the station. She held his gaze briefly, considering.

“I suppose you’ll meet him soon enough,” she said, her dark lips pursed in what could almost be disapproval. Keith found himself wondering if General Acxa was the type to question her prince’s orders. “This is Prince Lotor’s newest...” She paused, searching for an appropriate word. “Prisoner,” she settled on after a tick.

Keith frowned. What sort of prisoner needed to be kept on ice? Absently, his fingers stroked the glass of the Chamber’s smooth surface.

Acxa didn’t catch the movement, already facing ahead as together they guided the unwieldy cryopod around a sharp turn. “He is called Lance.”

Keith looked down in time to glimpse a whorl of aqua-colored light, the line of an angular jaw. The persistent tugging in his chest still hadn't relented.

_Lance._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith meets Lance. (Finally.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a warning for this chapter and the story itself.
> 
> Lotor picks outfits for Lance to wear to show him off as a luxury few can afford. These outfits are specifically chosen to make Lance uncomfortable for reasons that have to everything to do with his culture and aren't really intended to be sexual.
> 
> In my opinion, they're less creepy and inappropriate than Aladdin's Jafar's outfit choice for the captured Jasmine, or the blatant sexual interest The Swan Princess' Rothbart has in Odette but if this makes you at all uncomfortable please proceed with caution or find something else to read! Keep yourself safe!
> 
> For Brittany and Caitlin, for whom I would sass a galra woman that could crush me like a bug.

Keith adjusted his stance in an attempt to subtly relieve the ache that had taken up residence in his lower back. Lotor had been in discussions with key members of the Xorekar Station senior command staff for several varga with Keith standing at attention behind the prince’s chair, situated at the conference table’s head.

Keith’s large ears were perked upright atop his head, ostensibly on alert for any threat to Lotor’s safety. In reality, his attention was focused intently on the talks taking place at the table, his mind working furiously to file away any remotely relevant information as the commander of the fighter squadrons detailed what would be required to increase the base’s ship capacity.

It had been just under a movement since Keith had been assigned to Lotor’s guard and the wealth of information he’d been privy to was staggering. Keith almost couldn’t believe his luck, but Lotor did not seem concerned with restricting Keith’s access regarding what should be classified reports. Keith wasn’t sure if it was naivety or arrogance on the prince’s part, but he had no qualms about taking full advantage of the opportunity.

In fact, the biggest obstacle Keith faced in delivering impressively thorough reports to his senior commanders was finding the time and opportunity to submit them. Lotor had indeed insisted Keith be moved to closer quarters for the sake of convenience, relocating him to a surprisingly comfortable suite of private rooms a short way down the hall from the prince’s own. This meant Keith no longer had reason to be down in the soldiers’ communal areas, and sending the encrypted messages from a personal terminal would be risky beyond belief. He wasn’t quite that desperate yet.

In addition to the sudden lack of access to public areas, Keith had next to no free time in which to compose his reports. If he’d thought the prince would spend his time planetside lazing about, he was sorely mistaken. Lotor - and by extension, Keith - rose before dawn each morning and spent the entire quintet overseeing drills, inspecting the base and its soldiers, or in talks like the one Keith was currently observing.

As of yet, there’d been no need for him to draw his weapon. He maintained a steady vigilance but he doubted anyone on base would attack Lotor outright, and Zethrid and Acxa seemed to be of the same mind. They joined him in his duties only infrequently, both busy with individual tasks the prince had assigned them.

At the table, Lotor had the chief of requisitions calculating expenses and time frames while Lieutenant Commander Aiphos conferred with her officers on which soldiers would be the best choices to reassign to pilot class. Keith felt a small stab of longing, but knew he was not a viable candidate. Once the prince moved on from Torpar VII and Xorekar Station Keith would either accompany him or quietly disappear.

Keith had been born to fly, but piloting was not his current mission.

Eventually Aide Virek, taking notes at Aiphos’ side, leaned forward to murmur into her ear. Her expression soured briefly before she remembered herself.

“Your Highness,” she began in the simpering tone Keith had grown used to hearing from her since the prince’s arrival. “Tomorrow evening is a regularly scheduled gladiator’s tournament in Xorekar’s coliseum. If you would favor us with your attendance, we would be honored to dedicate the event to you, our prince.”

Keith kept his face neutral, sweeping the conference room again for any signs of illicit weapons and praying the prince would decline.

Lotor leaned back in his seat, resting a furless (naked, Keith couldn’t see it as anything other than naked) cheek on the back of one hand. “In my honor?” he asked, eyes sparkling and tone that of someone utterly charmed. “How could I refuse such an offer? It would be good to relax and be entertained by sport.”

Keith sighed quietly, resigned. Aiphos nodded. “Your bodyguard Keith typically mans the wall of the arena. Would you prefer I assign someone else?” Keith barely had time to tense at the idea of spending another night gunning down helpless prisoners before Lotor answered.

“If you would, Aiphos. I’ve grown quite fond of his ill-tempered presence and feel safer with that fierce scowl of his to ward off any threats.” Lotor definitely sounded amused, and shot Keith a half-smile over his shoulder.

Keith felt suddenly cold. He had thought he’d kept his face suitably blank during his time with Lotor, and he’d never noticed the prince observing him. He certainly didn’t think Lotor had paid him enough mind to note his attitude. It was a stark reminder that Lotor was dangerous and that Keith would be a fool to grow too complacent.

“Excellent,” Aiphos said, oblivious to Keith’s discomfort. “Matches will commence on the sixteenth varga.”

“I look forward to attending,” Lotor stated, and stood. “For now, I believe we’ll retire for dinner.” Keith followed behind the prince as he exited the conference room, the assembled officers bowing him out.

 

XX

 

Keith entered Prince Lotor’s chambers on the twelfth varga the next afternoon, a food-laden tray in hand. The kitchens didn’t serve clumpy nutrient goo to the prince of the Galra Empire, or, by extension, his bodyguards. Keith didn’t think he had ever eaten better food than what he’d been served over the past movement.

He barely hid his surprise when he noticed the Chamber propped against the far wall, and forced himself to refrain from asking questions as he placed Lotor’s meal down on the room’s small table.

It was the first time he’d seen the cryopod since he and General Acxa had deposited it in the suite next door to Keith’s new quarters. He’d not heard any mention of it, by Lotor or his guards, and though the curiosity had threatened to eat him alive Keith hadn’t brought it up.

Now it was in front of him, sparkling in the dim purple light of Lotor’s lounge, and the yearning that had faded into an almost unnoticeable ache in his chest in the interim flared suddenly back into vibrant life. He longed to touch the cold surface of the glass, to strain his eyes for another look at the prisoner slumbering behind that dark fog.

Lance.

Just thinking the name caused his instincts to roar at him and Keith flattened his ears in an unconscious response. Lotor, sliding a knife through the varren steak the base’s chef had prepared, caught the motion and smiled in amusement.

“Don’t be afraid,” the prince said, his tone patronizing. Keith gritted his teeth in irritation. “He’s a fearsome little thing but he’ll be in no condition to threaten someone with your skill.”

It was phrased as a compliment but Keith wondered, a little incredulous, if Lotor really didn’t notice that Keith could recognize the mockery in his words. Surely not everyone was blinded by that oozing charm?

But then, Keith had been at the prince’s side for nearly a movement and, as far as he could tell, everyone Lotor had spoken to had been entirely taken in by the prince.

“I’m only worried about the danger of an unknown threat so near to you, Your Highness.” Keith fought to keep the growl out of his voice. “I was told the Chamber contains a prisoner and I would guess that anyone that requires being kept on ice is someone that poses a pretty big risk.”

“A fair enough assessment,” the prince conceded. “But you will not need your blade for him right away.” He made an elegant motion with his glass of black starberry wine. “Acxa, wake our guest, if you would.”

Acxa moved across the room in three stiff strides. In the time since he’d met her, Keith had never seen her expression relax into anything softer than utter seriousness, but he didn’t think he was imagining the added tightness around her full mouth as she brought up the Chamber’s holographic controls. Under her command, the cryopod’s propulsors kicked in with a quiet hum and it glided to the center of the room where it hovered, horizontal, at the height of Keith’s waist.

Keith’s pulse hammered under his skin and his right hand itched for his blade. The ache of yearning in his chest intensified until it was very nearly painful. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from that swirling purple mist.

Acxa followed the pod the short distance, then input another command into the console. The interface beeped once and she stepped aside as the Chamber lowered slowly to the floor, landing with a solid thunking noise.

A seam Keith hadn’t noticed before opened along the outside edge of the Chamber’s front side. There was a hiss of air being rapidly released and when the front panel swung up and open like a lid the dark mist inside billowed out, dispersing silently into the room’s cooled air.

For a long moment there was no movement anywhere in the room, and Keith knew he wasn’t imagining the tense anticipation that grew between the four half-galra as they waited. His own heart was hammering inside his chest, frantic and demanding. It took every scrap of will he possessed to not move to the Chamber’s gaping opening. Zethrid growled low in her throat, somewhere to his left, but Keith wasn’t convinced he’d be able to tear his focus from the still figure behind the cryopod’s glass walls even if she outright attacked him.

The expectant hush was shattered by a noisy yawn, and a hand appeared over the lip of the cryopod, long fingers tipped by flat, blunt nails.

The alien, Lance, levered himself to a seated position and rubbed at a pair of brilliant blue eyes. “Sorry,” he said in a husky voice, his tone too deliberately casual to be genuine. “Must have dozed off again. How long was I out?”

Lotor chuckled. “Not as long as usual, do not worry yourself.”

Lance’s eyes flicked around the room and Keith tensed when he recognized the assessment in that gaze. The alien was mapping out exits, enemies, weapons. He was trying to decide if an escape attempt would be worthwhile.

Keith swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. If Lance tried to get free, he wasn’t certain he could bring himself to stop him.

That kind of thinking was dangerous. Keith didn’t even know Lance and nothing was worth jeopardizing his mission, but Keith’s instincts were roaring at him, and he’d always been the type to trust his gut.

Luckily for Keith, Lance obviously deemed any attempt at escape doomed to fail. Instead, he arched his body into an exaggerated stretch, arms high above his head.

Keith had never encountered an alien like Lance. Strangely, he most closely resembled Lotor: they had similar slim, elegant builds and small, delicately pointed ears and both their bodies were naked of fur. But where Lotor’s bare skin was a familiar galra purple, Lance’s was a rich brown, interrupted by curving lines the same shocking shade of blue as his eyes. Keith noted the sickle-shaped markings over his cheekbones and the patterns decorating his bare chest and shoulders and realized he recognized the designs as the translucent lights that had teased him from the Chamber’s depths, though they were no longer glowing.

“Apparently long enough,” Lance said airily. He raked his clawless fingers through the dark curls of hair that grew atop his head and looked once again around the room.

Lance’s eyes caught on Keith’s and held. For one brief, endless moment, everything stopped. Lotor and his generals, the room they were in, it all just vanished, leaving the two of them alone together - reality suspended for the time between one breath and the next.

And then Lance looked away and it all re-started as abruptly as it had stopped.

If he had experienced the same staggering, time-warping connection that had seared Keith like a flame, there was no sign of it on his placid face. Keith, however, was badly shaken. His heart slammed frantically into the prison bars of his ribs and his lungs didn’t seem capable of drawing air. He held himself stock still, desperate to avoid drawing Lotor’s attention as he scrambled to compose himself.

He needn’t have worried. Lance was speaking again, elbow propped on the Chamber’s edge and cheek cupped in his open palm, and Lotor was transfixed.

“You know, I like to think nothing surprises me anymore, but I really did not see this coming.” He tilted his head, brushing a fall of curled hair from in front of his striking eyes. “Does your daddy know I’m here?”

Keith’s attention jerked to Lotor. What did Lance have to do with Emperor Zarkon? The prince just chuckled, sounding pleased. He tucked a strand of his white hair behind a pointed ear and tipped his own head, mirroring Lance.

“I’m doing him a favor, I’m certain he was growing tired of your company. He’s never had much appreciation for that tongue of yours.”

The tone with which Lotor spoke of Lance’s tongue and the suggestive way his eyes raked over the prisoner’s exposed neck and chest sparked a hot coil of anger in Keith’s belly, and he likely would have growled if Lance hadn’t spoken again.

“He never did appreciate true finery,” he deadpanned, his expression nonplussed. It hardened suddenly. “Let’s cut to the chase, Prince Purple Ears,” Keith barely contained a snort, distracted from his anger by Lance’s lack of concern and ridiculous address. “Why am I here?”

Lotor smirked at him. “For fun, why else? Weren’t you getting bored? My father is hardly good company and you spend so much time sleeping.” He affected a sympathetic pout. “I thought I’d steal you away, take you to a few parties, introduce you to some new friends. Though you already know Zethrid of course.”

At the mention of new friends, Lance’s eyes had cut to Keith, but they redirected to Zethrid almost immediately. The massive general was seated in the corner of the room, her posture stiff and her expression menacing. Her scowl deepened when Lance turned to greet her with a jaunty wave.

“Zethrid!” he called, voice cheery and unnecessarily loud for so small a room. “They managed to save the eye! I’m impressed. Nice scar, by the way.” The smile he offered her was all teeth, and though they appeared to be as blunt as his fingernails, Keith was sure he’d seen less threatening expressions on the faces of raging beasts ticks before they tore entire squadrons apart.

It was very clear who had inflicted the trademark slash across Zethrid’s face and Keith looked at Lance with a new respect. Clearly, his small frame belied the damage it was capable of, much like Keith’s own.

Lotor tisked. “I really wouldn’t taunt her, Lance. We’re attending a gladiator’s tournament tonight and the general has been kind enough to volunteer her time to help you prepare.”

Zethrid bared her fangs in a smile that wouldn’t fool a blind unilu, and the first hint of unease flickered across Lance’s face before disappearing behind a toothy smile of his own. “I’ll be honest, I’m really not sure I trust her fashion sense.”

“Don’t worry.” Lotor picked up his discarded glass of wine and gestured to Zethrid. She stood and crossed the room, taking Lance roughly by the bicep and hauling him to his feet. “I selected the outfit myself.” He took a long draw of the black liquid as Zethrid half-dragged Lance from the room, still smiling her dangerous smile.

Keith, meanwhile, was struggling against the powerful urge to chop off Zethrid’s hand for touching Lance, his fingers twitching towards his knife. The unease on the alien’s face had re-ignited his cooling temper with the intensity and suddenness of an explosion, and his throat burned from the effort of containing the rumbling snarl that wanted to rip its way from between his lips.

‘ _W_ _h_ _at’s wrong with me?_ ’ he asked himself, trying desperately not to panic. He’d always had a temper, it was true, but this fiery surge of protectiveness was entirely foreign to him. He had yet to so much as speak to Lance, but he kept reacting as if the alien were someone precious.

The entire exchange had reeked of familiarity from both Lance and Lotor, almost as if they’d been reading from a script. Lance had likely been a prisoner for quite some time, particularly taking into account the use of a cryopod and the royal family’s legendary longevity. If all their interactions were as aggressive as this first one, Keith was going to be in serious trouble if he couldn’t get himself under control.

Worse, his mission would be in jeopardy. Already he could feel Acxa’s eyes on him. He’d forgotten she was even in the room - a dangerous mistake and a sign of just how much his response to Lance’s presence had thrown him. He was undercover, right under Prince Lotor’s nose, and he could not afford to get careless for even a tick.

Keith needed to get himself together.

He tucked his ears against his head and met Acxa’s stare with the coolest one of his own he could muster. The clink of Lotor’s knife against his plate was the only sound in the once again quiet room as the prince resumed his meal.

“Acxa, show Keith how to put the Chamber away,” he ordered.

Breaking her stare-off with Keith, the general obediently crossed back to the now empty pod and knelt beside it. Keith joined her on the floor.

Without its occupant, the Chamber had lost its inexplicable draw for Keith. It stood still, empty, nothing more than a cold glass box - unremarkable and unimportant.

“Swipe your hand on the side here to activate the control panel,” Acxa instructed, demonstrating. Keith nodded and watched closely as she navigated the interface. There were only a handful of commands; Keith would be able to work the machine if the need arose.

Keith watched the Chamber rise back into the air and return to its position propped against the wall. He thought of Lance, now so vibrant and alive in his mind even after so short an encounter, remembered him dark and still and cold as death behind the pod’s glass facets, and sincerely hoped he would never have to operate it.

Keith had just returned from delivering Lotor’s used dishes to the officer’s dining hall when Zethrid and Lance finally re-entered the lounge.

Lotor made a production of looking the alien over approvingly, his lips curved into a dazzling smile that was as sharp-edged as his sword.

“Didn’t I tell you, Lance? You look exquisite. Well done, Zethrid.” The general’s expression was blacker than it had been when she’d left, and she practically threw herself back into her corner seat.

Lance looked down at himself, a little crease appearing between his thin brows.

Even Keith could tell that the clothes Lotor had selected were of the highest quality, and obviously tailored specifically to Lance. A pair of form fitting, low-waisted black pants hugged his muscular thighs and tucked into well-made boots at his knees. His chest was covered by a galra-purple high-necked vest that stopped in the middle of his exposed ribs, leaving much of his abdomen and the entirety of his arms bare. Both garments were made of rich fabric and accented with glimmers of gold; the dark colors contrasted sharply with the vivid aqua markings in his skin so that they almost appeared to be glowing again. Gold jewelry crawled around his uncovered arms and shimmered along the length of one long ear. A chunk of heavy violet crystal dangled from the lobe.

Lotor was right, Lance did look exquisite. He also looked exceptionally uncomfortable. Keith kept a firm grip on the already familiar anger that kindled in his gut as he watched Lance’s long fingers tug futilely at the high hem of his shirt.

“It’s not what I would have picked,” Lance said. His voice was impressively nonchalant, but it was a wasted effort. His unease was impossible to miss.

“You’ll forgive me if I find your sense of fashion a little out of date.” Lotor didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “Although I can see you didn’t deign to heed my advice regarding taunting Zethrid.” Keith’s eyes raked immediately over Lance’s exposed skin, looking for anything out of place.

A ring of rapidly darkening bruises wrapped around Lance’s firm bicep and Lotor clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. Keith ducked his head, so enraged he was certain his eyes were as red as his vision. How dare she harm Lance! He didn’t notice his hand had risen to his shoulder, going for the hilt of the sword that rested there, until his name in Lotor’s mouth snapped him back to himself with the efficiency of a bucket of icy water.

For one wild, heartstopping tick Keith thought his reaction, and violent intentions, had been noticed and he was about to be struck down.

Sense quickly reasserted itself. Keith continued his hand’s journey, lifting it all the way to scratch at the back of his ear, and straightened to attention: a far more appropriate response to being directly addressed by the prince of the Galra Empire than outright panic. He kept his expression as alert and impassive as he could, and if his eyes kept flicking to Lance, Lotor would hardly blame him. The prince couldn’t seem to look away himself.

“Yes, Your Highness?” he asked, pleased when his voice came out calm. ‘ _I can do this,_ ’ he told himself. ‘ _I can keep things under control. Lance doesn’t change anything._ ’

He ignored the part of himself that insisted that Lance changed _everything_.

Lotor didn’t seem to notice his conflict. “Forgive my manners. I haven’t introduced our guest. Keith, this is Lance, the last relic of a long forgotten and extinct race who dared to betray the Galra Empire. Lance, this is my bodyguard, Keith.”

Lance planted his hands on his hips and looked Keith over from his large ears to his gleaming boots and back up again. Keith felt his body heating under that careful regard and anxiously wondered what it was that Lance would see in him.

Lance’s mouth twisted and his eyes narrowed. That little crease was back between his brows. Keith’s heart stilled in his chest and his hand closed over nothing, longing, as always, for the comfort of his knife.

Did Lance not approve of him?

Why did Keith care?

“What,” Lance finally asked, his tone appalled, “is with that hairstyle?”

 

XX

 

It should not have surprised Keith that Lotor was not interested in subjecting himself to the conditions in the coliseum, which were as miserable, malodorous, and murderous as they always were. Instead, he ushered Lance into a luxurious private booth, Keith a step behind.

Zethrid and Acxa had not accompanied them, busy with their own duties, so the responsibility of the Prince’s safety rested solely on Keith. For the first time, it weighed heavily; he’d told Lieutenant Commander Aiphos that letting thousands of civilians onto the base was a liability and he’d meant it.

Keith was relieved when he entered the small room to find it possessed only one point of entry and no seating for additional guests. The air in the booth was pleasantly cool and smelled only of the filtration system it was pumped through. The upper half of the front wall was some kind of transparent barrier that allowed the viewers in the booth to look out upon the amassed crowd and down into the recessed pit. Projectors covered the longer adjacent wall with a life-like video feed from inside the gladiator’s arena itself where the hulking, four-armed alien Keith had watched vomiting on himself two movements ago swung his swords in loose circles, warming up.

Keith turned his head away, looking instead to the plush, high-backed couch that provided the room’s only seating. The sofa was long enough for Lance to sprawl, indolent and unconcerned, at one end, the length of one leg separating him from Lotor, who smirked but allowed the distance. It was a relief for Keith, whose temper had been a low-burning ember in his stomach as he’d followed the pair through the base, one of Lotor’s hands possessively hovering over Lance’s bared lower back. The alien’s wide shoulders had been tight with his discomfort and Keith had wanted to remove the prince’s hand. From his arm.

On the plus side, the entire trip had been excellent practice for keeping his responses in check and Keith was feeling a little more settled. He’d been overreacting when he’d panicked earlier. Lance altered nothing; Keith’s mission was unchanged and in no danger. Everything would be fine.

The soundproofing in the booth was good but not perfect and the excited roar of the crowd was audible as the second contender entered the pit. Keith’s heart sank. The prisoner was visibly trembling and had been forced from the access tunnel at gunpoint. He was tiny and frail looking, and it was clear from his grip on his weapon that he had no idea how to use it.

Lotor raised a hand and waved it carelessly, a signal to the coliseum’s overseer that he was ready to begin.

It wasn’t much of a competition. Whatever hesitation the four-armed gladiator might have felt their first time in the pit was gone, stomped out by the inescapable imperative to survive. They lunged for the quivering prisoner with both blades raised, confident and clearly intent on ending the match swiftly.

The prisoner barely ducked away in time. He cried out in terror, the sound projected into Lotor’s private booth as the swords struck the wall above his head with enough force to gouge chunks from the steel. The prisoner shot forward, ducking under the gladiator’s raised arms while they struggled to pry their blades loose, but he was immediately snatched by the second, lower set and dragged against their barrel-like chest.

Thick fingers closed around the prisoner’s throat and the watching crowd screamed in approval as the gladiator began to strangle him. On the close-up feed, Keith could make out every fat, glittering tear on the frail prisoner’s bulging face, his expression a mask of utter terror as the life was choked from him.

The high definition detail was far worse than being stationed on the wall, where Keith couldn’t make out faces or features. He hadn’t realized how much protection the distance had afforded him, how it had allowed him a certain detachment from the aliens suffering in the pit. The stunning clarity of the booth’s projectors made the prisoners’ struggles real in a way Keith couldn’t ignore.

His stomach twisted, nausea rising and filling his mouth with bile, and he tore his eyes from the arena. Hands clenched into fists, Keith dropped his head and turned away, his ears tucked to his skull to muffle the screaming crowd. He started, caught off guard, when his eyes met Lance’s. The alien was openly watching him, his brows furrowed and a little frown twisting his lips.

Keith snuck a glance at Lotor, who was watching the prisoner dying in the projection with a disinterested expression and paying them no mind, before turning back to Lance. He perked his furred ears curiously and raised a brow of his own. The alien’s face smoothed out when their eyes met again and he tipped his head lazily against the backrest of his seat.

Lance let his eyes drag down Keith’s body, more slowly than they had in Lotor’s chambers. Keith’s cheeks heated, unsure what to make of the behavior, and Lance’s mouth stretched into a wide, lecherous grin. He met Keith’s eyes once again and waggled his eyebrows at him.

Keith scowled, embarrassed to be blushing and convinced Lance was mocking him. When the ridiculous waggling only increased in velocity in response, he bared his pointed teeth.

Lance’s ears began to wiggle too.

He looked so absurd, grinning and wiggling, the stone hanging from his ear dancing with its jerky movements, that Keith snorted in spite of himself.

And immediately froze, schooling his features into blankness as he felt Lotor’s attention shift towards him.

“Does something amuse you, Keith?” the prince asked, his charming smile asking to be let in on the joke.

Before Keith could come up with a reply Lance swung his second leg up onto the sofa, draping himself back over the seat’s arm with a noisy, overly dramatic sigh. “This is what you woke me up for? I’m bored. This is boring.”

The moment Lance moved Lotor’s attention was drawn to him as if it were caught in a tractor beam and Keith exhaled silently in relief. The prince opened his mouth but whatever he was going to say was drowned out by an impossibly loud roar from the coliseum.

Keith’s head whipped back around to the projection. The prisoner, who had evidently been more resistant to being choked than he looked, had remembered there was a gun in his hands and had blown a gaping, smoking hole through the gladiator’s gut. They released him and staggered back, an expression of shock on their meaty face, and dropped to the floor with a sudden slam that made Keith flinch.

The crowd went wild. Lance made a tiny noise of surprise and Keith silently agreed; he’d certainly expected a different outcome from the match-up, but Lotor just laughed.

“Now that was entertaining! The unpredictable ones are the most exciting.”

In the arena, the vanquisher was bent double, vomiting repeatedly, the gun thrown away from him. Keith felt sick himself as he remembered the gladiator - now a corpse being dragged out of the pit by one limp wrist - reacting in nearly the same way not so long ago. The victor was shaking so violently the sentries were struggling to shackle his wrists.

Keith wondered, as he watched him be led away, if he would hesitate the next time a gun was put in his hands.

Several varga dragged by, Lotor both bored by and invested in the matches by turns. Keith felt Lance’s eyes on him frequently and it took all the willpower he possessed to not turn to face the alien. His lips twitched whenever he remembered that teasing grin but it seemed disrespectful to feel amusement. Not while the wall was being painted with images of prisoners slaughtering and being slaughtered in vivid real time.

He also didn’t know how Lotor would handle Lance’s flirting - was that what it had been? - with his bodyguard, but he suspected it wouldn’t be well.

(And if that _was_ flirting, Lance was not very good at it.)

Lotor had occasionally been communicating with the coliseum overseer via a small console built into the arm of his seat when he particularly liked or disliked a combatant. The ones he didn’t approve of were executed on the spot. Lance flinched every time and Keith watched the senseless murders with fire in his heart. It was the first time since meeting the prince that he felt genuine hatred for him.

Beyond the infrequent commands, they hadn’t been disturbed since they’d entered the booth so when the door hissed open behind Keith he spun, hand going to his sword. The intruder gasped and immediately bowed low, stopping half inside the doorway and holding up a large bottle of Lotor’s favorite wine with hands that shook.

“Your Highness, I’ve been sent by Overseer Xickfax to offer you refreshment.”

Lotor eyed the alien, then waved him in dismissively and turned back to the wall screen where two massive raptor-like beasts were ripping each other apart. Lance didn’t shift from his lazy sprawl, but he was watching the servant’s every move with keen eyes.

Keith’s instincts were a warning prickle along his spine and he didn’t take his hand off his sword. Something about the situation didn’t sit right. He stared at the alien intently, looking for any sign of a weapon and finding none.

The servant crossed the room, eyes on his feet as he took slow, measured steps. He was tall and broad, with dark brown fur and bright green rings under his eyes. At first glance, he looked like a particularly mixed galra, with his flat nose and sharp teeth, but when those features were taken with his foggy gray eyes and small round ears, he really didn’t resemble a galra at all.

‘ _Why would anyone other than a galra be sent to serve Prince Lotor?_ ’ Keith was drawing his sword before the thought had fully formed, bringing the weapon down in time to deflect the knife flashing towards Lotor’s exposed neck.

The bottle of wine shattered as it hit the ground, spraying Keith and the assassin with the expensive black liquid as they squared off against each other. The assassin struck again almost immediately, lunging towards Keith and bringing the knife down with a roar. Keith caught the blade with his own a second time then kicked forward, planting his booted foot on the alien’s unarmored chest.

The blow caught the assassin by surprise and he stumbled back, slipping in the spilled wine. Keith followed him and slashed at his neck with his sword. His attack was stopped short by the knife and Keith was impressed by the other’s strength as the alien shoved upward, pushing him back and away.

Keith regained his footing quickly and struck again, intent on taking advantage of his weapon’s superior reach. He was blocked as easily as the first time and he scowled, sizing his opponent up with new eyes. Despite his bulk he moved quickly, light on his feet in a way that most larger fighters were not.

It was time to try a different approach. Keith charged forward, sword lifted to strike, but when the alien moved to block him Keith wrapped his free hand around the alien’s raised arm and yanked. His claws raked at the bulging muscles of the assassin’s bicep and forearm. Keith was too close to make use of his sword’s blade but he punched out, smashing its hilt into his opponent’s sturdy jaw.

The alien snarled and brought his other fist up to drive it into Keith’s face. He was forced to duck, surrendering his hold on the arm that held the knife, but blood poured from the gouges rent into his skin by Keith’s claws. When he caught Keith’s sword with the knife again his grip on the handle slipped wetly.

Grinning triumphantly, Keith kicked him, striking his hand before he could recover his hold on the weapon. The knife gleamed, reflecting the room’s violet light as it flew from his grasp.

The assassin didn’t even watch it go. A split tick after Keith’s boot made contact with his hand he was thundering forward again, meaty fists raised to strike.

Keith darted to the side, swiping at the assassin’s belly with his claws as he passed. He spun immediately on his heel and caught the big alien across the back with his blade, but he realized too late that he hadn’t been the target when the assassin continued towards the seat where Lotor waited. The prince looked markedly unconcerned and even bored as the heavy alien bore down on him.

Snarling, Keith hurled his sword. The momentum as it struck sent the would-be assassin tumbling over the seat to sprawl in a bleeding heap against the wall. The projectors cast scenes of flashing teeth and gore across his writhing body as he shuddered his way towards death, Keith’s sword standing upright from the center of his back. Half the length of the blade was buried in his flesh.

Keith vaulted the high back of the sofa and knelt beside the dying alien. He hauled his head up by one small ear and bared his teeth, their noses nearly brushing.

“Who sent you?” he growled, infusing his voice with all the rage he’d been struggling to contain since Lance had stepped from the Chamber. Regret for the pain he was causing twisted in his gut. “Are there others in the coliseum? Tell me!”

The assassin bared sharp teeth of his own. “We won’t be stopped, Galra. The galaxy will know peace.” Lights flickered across his face, painting the image of a spray of raptor blood across his features as they went slack.

He was dead, and Keith was relieved. He didn’t know who the alien had worked for but he felt a kinship with the rebel who had died for his cause, who had given his life to try to weaken the empire. Death was a kinder fate than a galra interrogation chamber.

The relief didn’t assuage the guilt Keith felt for killing him, but he reminded himself that bodyguards who didn’t stop assassins didn’t hold their positions - or their lives - for long. His mission was too important to throw away for a single life.

It wasn’t the time to deal with his feelings. Keith stood, tugging the hilt of his weapon to free it from the body. He had to brace his foot on the dead alien’s back to keep it in place when his sword caught its ribs. Keith knew with certainty that the sensation of his blade dragging against bone would haunt his nightmares for a long time.

He bent and wiped the weapon clean on the corpse’s ruined uniform, then straightened and turned to face Lotor.

“Prince Lotor, were you hurt?”

The prince was staring at the assailant’s body, his lips twisted into a sneer.

“If this is the quality of assassins they have to send after me, perhaps I’ve overestimated the threat the rebels present.” He sniffed and activated his console. In clipped tones, he ordered Lieutenant Commander Aiphos to report to his private booth before addressing Keith again. “He didn’t touch me, Keith. Well done. You reacted to the threat with impressive speed. I especially liked the sword-throwing trick.” Lotor smirked.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Keith waited, alert for any more threats, until Aiphos stalked into the room, the air around her as electric and dangerous as an ion storm. General Zethrid was with her and Keith sheathed his sword when nobody entered behind them.

He tuned out Lotor’s recount of events and Aiphos’ outrage and instead turned his attention to the body lying at his feet. He searched it carefully, looking for some hint of who the alien had been sent by. There were no insignias on the clothes or orders in the pockets, too obvious, but when he lifted the corpse’s arm to inspect the damage caused by his own claws he noticed something odd.

One of the slashes that cut down across the inside of the body’s wrist looked off. The skin edging that gash was more frayed than around the others, the torn flesh curled up and away from the wound.

Keith frowned and knelt, inspecting it more closely. The fur around the gash and along the entire inner wrist was oddly smooth looking. Curious, Keith brushed his finger down the length of it and found that the skin there was colder than it should have been such a short time after death and had a strange texture. He traced the edge of the wound with the tip of a claw and found a thin seam - some kind of fabric was stretched over the wrist.

Keith lifted it carefully, peeling away a strip of cloth that sparked along its torn edge when it was separated from the arm of the corpse. He held it up, and before his eyes it turned a dusky blue, matching the color of the brushed steel wall behind it. Keith’s brows rose to his hairline and his ears perked forward. Incredulous, he lowered the bloodied fabric to his thigh, watching it imitate the exact shade and texture of his armor.

Some kind of disguise cloth, then. It took on the appearance of whatever was behind it. High-tech and valuable - Keith wondered what his people could do with something like that. If the cloth had somehow been designed to not show the knife beneath it, that would explain how the assassin had nearly snuck a weapon past him. He’d have to experiment some.

Which reminded Keith: where was the knife? He’d seen it fly from the assassin’s grip but hadn’t watched for it to land. He tucked the chameleon fabric into his armor’s belt and glanced around, searching for the missing weapon.

Zethrid stood directly behind the couch where Lotor sat, a hulking, menacing shadow. Aiphos stood in front of the prince, hissing orders into a handheld device with a voice like ice. The blade was not on the floor around them, or on the sofa.

Keith turned, scanning the right side of the room, towards the entrance. His eyes caught on Lance, who had been briefly forgotten in the excitement. The lanky alien was leaning against the wall that ran perpendicular to the booth’s doorway, arms crossed over his chest and one long leg propped up behind him. His head was turned to stare out the front barrier at the gladiator’s pit with the blank gaze of someone who wasn’t really seeing what they were looking at. There was no one between him and the exit.

The lost knife was nowhere in sight. Keith got to his feet and walked casually towards Lance, watching Lotor and his officers from the corner of his eye. None of them paid him any mind. When he stopped in front of Lance he made sure to place himself between the alien and the other half-galra, shielding him from prying eyes.

“Are you hurt?” he asked in a low tone. Lance turned to face him, one brow raised.

“That assassin wasn’t after _me_.” Keith nodded, then paused. He wasn’t sure what to say next and the silence began to stretch awkwardly.

Lance watched him intently, and Keith felt flayed, cut and left open, his insides exposed by those blue eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder, again, what Lance was seeing; if he looked at Keith and saw anything but the fresh blood on his hands. Keith wanted to hide them behind his back, as if putting them out of sight would put his latest murder far out of mind. Instead, he clenched his jaw and folded his hands into fists, standing resolutely under Lance’s scrutiny.

“You had to kill him,” Lance said finally, as if he actually _had_ seen through to Keith’s thoughts. Keith blinked, startled and uncomfortable.

Lance glanced at the doorway, the path to it unblocked, then back to Keith, and nodded like he’d come to some decision. His hand dropped to his bent knee suddenly, so fast Keith nearly went for his sword. Lance froze when he caught Keith’s aborted gesture and met his eyes, holding very still.

“I’m not going to attack you,” he said slowly and deliberately. Keith searched Lance’s gaze and his severe expression and found only sincerity. He nodded.

“I know.”

Lance blew out a breath and his eyes flicked over Keith’s face again. Then his long fingers dipped into the top of his boot and fished around. When he drew the fingers back up, the hilt of the assassin’s knife was pinched between them. The short blade flashed with the purple-tinted light of the room as Lance flipped it and held it out to Keith, the handle resting across his open hand.

Keith stared. He’d already figured out Lance had the knife and realized belatedly that he had intended to let the other keep it. He looked over his shoulder at the door. With a secreted weapon, Lance could have overpowered him and made it out of the booth. It wouldn’t have been much of a headstart, but it would have been something.

It was what Keith would have done.

Confused, he was slow to take the offered weapon. If Lance had any second thoughts about his decision to hand it over, they didn’t show on his face.

“Why?” Keith asked once his fingers closed over the handle. They left a smear of blood over the dark skin of the other’s palm, his own hand tingling from the faint contact despite his gloves. Lance gave a careless shrug.

“It’s what you were looking for, right?”

Keith wanted to growl that that explanation didn’t make any sense, wanted to grab Lance by his shoulders and shake him for handing over his shot at freedom.

A particularly harsh snarl from Aiphos reminded him that they weren’t alone before he could do anything stupid, like open the door for Lance himself. Instead, Keith looked the alien over again, as if a closer examination would reveal the answers to his rapidly increasing number of questions. Lance had already turned his head to stare blankly across the coliseum once more.

Keith returned to Lotor and offered him the recovered knife. The prince motioned for Aiphos to take it and the Lieutenant Commander did so, evaluating the blade critically. Keith wondered if that oily third eye could see anything that he had missed.

“There’s nothing outwardly remarkable about it that I could find,” Keith reported. Aiphos nodded in agreement.

“I will find out who is responsible for this treason, my prince,” she swore, kneeling at Lotor’s feet, unconcerned by the pool of blood that had spread from the corpse and was now soaking her armor. “Those who allowed it to happen will suffer greatly.”

“I know you will, Aiphos,” Lotor assured her.

Taking his words as permission to leave, Aiphos rose and turned sharply on her heel, exiting the room. Everything about her demeanor promised heads were about to begin rolling and were unlikely to stop doing so for some time.

“Hate to be on her bad side,” Lance remarked casually, throwing himself back into his seat and offering Zethrid a bright, taunting grin when she growled at him. Keith was inclined to agree with his assessment.

He was relieved when Lotor opted to return to his quarters a short time later, complaining that the smell of the corpse was ruining his enjoyment of the tournament.

 

XX

 

“Keith, Acxa showed you how the Chamber works?” Lotor asked when they arrived back at his lounge. Beside the prince, Lance went very still.

Unbidden, images of Lance, cold and unmoving as the dead behind the thick wall of glass, flashed before Keith’s eyes. He nodded reluctantly.

“Good, I think we’ve had enough excitement for the time being and Lance looks positively exhausted.”

He didn’t. He looked unhappy, his long arms wrapped around himself as if he needed the warmth, or the comfort. It took considerable effort for Keith to catch Lance’s gaze and when he did, his heart stopped. The fear in those blue eyes was enough to make Keith want to grab him and run, to take him far, far away from the Chamber and its chill.

Instead, he nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.” The words burned on his tongue and it took everything he had to cross the room and bring the Chamber humming to life.

Keith swiped through the short list of commands, skipping over the one he needed twice before grudgingly sending the cryopod gliding to the center of the room. Another press of his finger and the lid flipped open silently, no air inside to release this time.

Lance couldn’t seem to bring himself to step towards it. His face was a mask of determination, his hands fisted, but there was the faintest tremor in his frame. His eyes were dark with fear.

Keith wanted to comfort him, to snarl at Lotor to let him be, to do anything other than stand beside Lance’s glass prison and wait to seal him inside.

Zethrid growled, impatient, and Lotor laughed.

“Come now, Lance. I’ve stolen you away from Central Command so we can have fun, remember? I promise that next time you wake it will at least be the same century.”

Keith’s stomach knotted in on itself. He thought he might scream. Lance met his eyes and seemed to draw strength from whatever he saw there, because his shoulders squared and he took a slow, deliberate step.

Another. A third. He stopped when he was standing before Keith with only the glass Chamber between them.

Lance reached across the narrow space with fingers that trembled and, ignoring Lotor and Zethrid behind him, touched the ends of Keith’s shaggy hair where it threatened to fall into his eyes.

“You really should consider a better hairstyle,” he whispered. His small smile quivered at the corners.

Before Keith could process the words or the raw emotion on Lance’s face, the alien was stepping into the pod and laying back. His eyes closed as the lid folded shut, imprisoning him behind the glass once more. When he entered the command to instigate the cryo process, Keith was stunned to notice his own fingers were shaking.

Within ticks the air around the pod grew cold and the roiling smoke obscured Lance’s drawn face.

The marks in his skin were glowing again, but their light was swallowed by purple mist.

 

XX

 

Keith jerked awake, chest heaving, sucking in air like he’d just been drowned. Cold sweat coated his body, matting his fur. He shivered, silently cursing the high quality environmental controls in his private suite. A glance at the dimly glowing console next to his bed told him it was shortly after the third varga.

Keith drew in a breath and held it until his lungs began to scream at him, willing his racing mind to slow. When he blew it out noisily, he didn’t feel any calmer.

Frustrated, Keith kicked away his fine, silky sheets and threw himself out of bed.

He reached high above his head, gripping an elbow with the opposite hand and pulling it behind himself, harder than was probably wise, in an attempt to stretch some of the tension from his body.

In his dream, he’d re-lived his fight in Lotor’s private booth at the coliseum: tearing the assassin’s flesh with his claws, killing him by throwing his sword, watching the projection of gore across his body as he died. Only, when Keith had pulled his head up to make a show of questioning him, the ear his fingers closed over was pointed and lined in gold.

Keith had tried to stop himself, to let go, but instead he’d shouted at Lance, watched the light fade from his eyes as blood sprayed across his face. It dripped from his long nose and pooled along his lips, warm on Keith’s hand - not a trick of the projector but real. Panicked, Keith was finally able to release Lance’s ear and the alien fell back to lie in his own blood. There was so much of it, too much. Keith’s sword stood from Lance’s unmoving body like an obelisk to his failure.

He couldn’t stop his hand from closing around the hilt or his boot from bracing against Lance’s still chest as he tugged at his sword. The familiar sensation of tempered metal dragging on bone slithered up Keith’s arm and Lance opened his mouth and screamed.

It was the devastating fear in those blue eyes that had finally driven Keith to wake, Lance’s shrieking echoing in his ears.

A nightmare. It had only been a nightmare.

Keith moved into another stretch, gentler this time, and concentrated on his breathing. Slowly, his heart rate returned to normal and the tightness constricting his lungs eased.

_‘It was just a dream,'_ ' he reminded himself, ‘ _Even if it felt real._ ’ Keith knew Lance was entombed in the Chamber in the rooms beside his own but more than anything he wanted to sneak next door and see Lance for himself. He was desperate to replace the images from his nightmare with glimpses of Lance behind the glass, frozen, but alive and unharmed.

“That is not an option,” he growled aloud. “Get yourself together before you blow everything to hell.” Keith shook himself and glanced again at the time. With the images from his nightmare still fresh in his mind he wouldn’t be going back to sleep, but he had a few varga before Lotor would rise and summon him.

Keith dressed in the undersuit of his armor and tucked his knife away, thinking to get some training in, but when he reached for his sword that horrible blade-on-bone sensation crawled up from his palm again.

When Keith exited his quarters, he left the sword behind. He had a report to send, anyway. Training could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galra!Keith's appearance in this is completely based on the design by caseydambro on tumblr! If you somehow aren't following her, you should go check her out. Her Keith really inspired this piece. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The same warnings as before apply in regards to Lotor dressing Lance and generally being a prick.
> 
> Also a warning for recreational drug use of the plant-based variety. Lotor is the one indulging but it's implied Lance has some experience of his own. 
> 
> For Brittany and Caitlin, for whom I would second-guess everything I've ever been taught.

Keith was not even remotely surprised when Lieutenant Commander Aiphos reported that the previous night’s would-be assassin had walked right in the front door. There was even video footage of him smiling and laughing and moving easily amongst a small, mixed crowd of aliens. He looked utterly relaxed but Keith didn’t miss the way his cloudy gray eyes settled, briefly, on the surveillance cameras and the various galra sentries as he passed them. Those eyes were sharp and clever, completely at odds with the lifeless things that had stared right through Keith even in death.

The aliens who had entered with him had all been detained and questioned by Aiphos herself but all insisted they hadn’t known the large, friendly alien and had only spoken to him briefly about the matches. Keith was inclined to believe them; the rebel assassin had been a professional and, judging by the strip of chameleon-cloth Keith had secreted away, a member of an organization with at least some access to expensive and high-tech resources.

Evidently, Lieutenant Commander Aiphos agreed. “Unless you wish to question them personally, my prince, I will execute them,” she told Prince Lotor, her tone respectful but her eyes gleaming almost manically. Keith didn’t know if it was his imagination or not, but her fathomless black eye seemed larger than ever in the center of her forehead. Her tails lashed violently behind her when the prince nodded.

“I trust your judgement, Aiphos. Do as you will.” Lotor didn’t seem concerned either way but the expression on her face - some mix of glee and bloodthirst - sent chills slithering down Keith’s spine.

Those civilians would die for walking into the coliseum beside a stranger. If he hadn’t stopped the assassin the night before, his punishment might have been even more severe. It served as a grim reminder of the gruesome fate awaiting Keith if his true affiliations were ever to be discovered.

As for the body itself, Aiphos and her people hadn’t discovered anything that Keith had missed in his own inspection. She reported that Zarkon had chosen to enslave the assassin’s race, as opposed to wiping them out entirely, a few centuries before. It was unknown how or when he’d arrived on Torpar VII, the lack of documentation a security oversight that was already being corrected.

“The knife is well made but unremarkable. We could find no clues of any rebel affiliation or anything that might be tracked back to a potential source. However, given his knowledge of your preferred beverage and the codes he used to access your booth, I do not believe he operated without assistance.”

Lotor was frowning slightly, his long fingers drumming on the surface of the conference table. “And the codes? How did he come by those?”

Aiphos’ expression blackened. “The intruder used two separate sets of codes: the first to access the restricted hall that connects your private viewing booth to the base proper and the second to open the door to the room itself. Those codes belong to a Corporal Lethox and a Sergeant Throzt respectively.”

Keith blinked, his ears twitching forward in surprise. He recognized those names.

“Both spent the night being thoroughly questioned,” Aiphos continued in a voice as cold and sharp as a shard of ice. “They are recent transfers from the primary army, sent as a,” she paused briefly and the corners of her mouth tipped down in distaste, “ _punishment_ for sheer stupidity, from what I’ve gathered from their former commander. It was during an altercation with Keith that the pair came to my attention. I’ve been too busy to break them in as I should have.”

Lotor’s brows were raised. He had to know the kind of soldiers that considered serving in his ranks to be a punishment - close minded, pure-blood supremacists. “And have they survived their time under your tender attentions?” he asked finally, sounding amused.

“They have. They insist they may have been less...careful with their codes than they should have been.” Aiphos’ lips curled back from her teeth and her third eye glistened in the purple lights of the room. “The fools made notes of them on their personal datapads. Pads they are prone to leaving lying about in communal areas such as the barracks and recreation rooms. Lethox claims his disappeared from the dining hall nearly a phoeb ago but reappeared again before he thought to report it.”

Keith didn’t bother to stifle his snort.

Lotor turned in his seat to look back at him. “That sounds about right, based off of my one meeting with them,” Keith offered.

“I see. Aiphos said you were in an altercation with them?”

Keith flushed, remembering his rookie error concerning the pair’s lackeys in the dining hall and just how outnumbered he’d been before the Lieutenant Commander had interrupted. “They were rude and I can sometimes be a little impatient,” he explained, recalling Lethox’s comments about his ears and Throzt growling ‘ _mongrel_.’

Lotor turned to face forward again and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him. “Are they in any condition to be brought here, Aiphos?” he asked after a moment.

The Lieutenant Commander was already motioning to Aide Virek, who stood unobtrusively in the corner behind her, datapad at the ready. He immediately began to tap at the screen.

“I’ll have them brought over, my prince, though if you do not wish to dirty yourself with such filth I could instead provide a live feed to an interrogation chamber.” Lotor waved Aiphos off.

“I appreciate your concerns but I would prefer to confront these possible traitors directly.”

The Lieutenant Commander bowed her head in acknowledgement and they waited in silence for Lethox and Throzt to be delivered from the prison blocks.

A short time later the two massive pure-blood galra were escorted into the officer’s conference room by a half-dozen electronic sentries and four large mixed-blood soldiers. The robots flanked each of the shackled prisoners with their rifles drawn and the living galra all sported swords at their waists. Clearly Aiphos wasn’t taking any chances, and remembering the force of Throzt’s fist slamming into his face Keith couldn’t blame her.

The entourage came to a stop before the table, opposite Lotor.

“Kneel!” Aiphos snapped, her entire body language conveying fury and barely contained violence as she glared at the bound galra. Lethox dropped so swiftly to the floor that the sound of his knees striking the steel panels resounded in the wide room. It seemed he’d learned some sense since Keith had last met him.

Throzt was slower to lower himself, his glowing eyes locked on Lotor where the prince still lounged in his seat. Aiphos stalked forward swiftly and shoved him to the ground with her boot on his shoulder. One of her tails slithered around his throat and tightened.

“You are not worthy of looking upon him,” she hissed, but Lotor cut her off.

“Lieutenant Commander,” he said in a light tone, sounding utterly unconcerned. “I would ask questions of him and he will require air to provide answers.” Aiphos released Throzt immediately and stepped back, but her murderous scowl didn’t soften.

“Thank you. Now, let’s begin.” Lotor fixed his attention on Lethox first. The smaller galra was visibly trembling. “Your name and rank, please,” the prince said pleasantly.

“Corporal Lethox, Your Highness,” he choked out in a voice so gravelly and ruined - from screaming, Keith’s mind provided - that Keith winced.

Neither of the pure-bloods were in great shape. Both wore the black jumpsuit and purple rags of prisoners. The tight fabric covered most of their bodies, but the skin that was visible was swollen and bruised almost beyond recognition. There was a long strip of fur and flesh missing from Throzt’s cheek and when Lethox turned his head Keith could just make out a ragged tear in the leather of his ear. Keith didn’t care much for either of the bigoted blood purists but his stomach clenched a little in sympathy nevertheless.

“And you?” Lotor inclined his head towards Throzt. The big galra scowled despite his ruined face.

“Sergeant Throzt,” he answered, a beat too late to be respectful.

Lotor remained silent for a long time after his initial questions. Throzt bore the increasing tension with a grim stoicism but it was only a handful of dobashes before Lethox snapped.

“Please, Your Highness,” he nearly sobbed. “We didn’t conspire with anyone! We are loyal to the Empire!” By the time he finished his fervent declaration there were tears matting the dirty fur on his cheeks.

The prince leaned forward and pinned the crying galra with his gaze. “Loyal to the Empire, I believe. But what about me, hm? Zarkon’s dishonored son, the exiled prince. Lotor, a mixed-blood, a hybrid, giving command over his forces to other half-breeds? And you, pure-blood officers of Emperor Zarkon’s army, forced to submit to them. The disgrace of it; the dishonor. If an assassin happened to put a knife in my heart it would be doing my father a favor, yes?”

Lethox looked about two words from being ill and even Throzt seemed shaken. Lotor had practically quoted the conversation Keith had overheard in the dining hall. It was likely they’d said those exact words to one another before, possibly on multiple occasions. Lethox began to stutter out desperate denials but Lotor spoke over him.

“No. You may feel that way but neither of you is clever enough to have thought to utilize the rebellion to kill me, much less contact them without leaving any trace.”

Throzt’s jaw was clenched so tightly the wound on his cheek began to bleed freely again and he was outright glaring at Lotor for the insult. Lethox nodded along to the prince’s words eagerly.

“We’re not that smart!” he agreed in his teary, ruined voice. The prince smiled.

“I believe that your codes were stolen,” he said. “Your only crimes in this matter are sheer stupidity and staggering incompetence. I don’t feel either of those warrants the honor of an execution, do you?”

Corporal Lethox went boneless in relief, slumping into a quivering pile of rags and filthy fur on the floor. A glance at Sergeant Throzt, though, had Keith reaching for his weapon. The hulking galra looked ticks away from launching himself over the table at Prince Lotor, assembled soldiers be damned.

“You would deny me a clean death?” he demanded, snarling. Aiphos stepped forward again.

“Yes,” Lotor said calmly. “You wish to die an honorable death as a pure-blood martyr: a Sergeant of Zarkon’s Galra army murdered by a half-blood exile.” For the first time, steel entered the prince’s voice. “I will not permit you that dignity, or that legacy. You will continue to serve under me, under Aiphos, under every mixed-blood galra on this base.”

Keith recognized the coiled preparation in Throzt’s huge frame a split tick before the prisoner lunged and he drew his sword but Aiphos was there before Throzt had even cleared the floor. One long tail reclaimed its former position around the big galra’s throat and a second wrapped around his ankle and tugged, ruining his balance. The third drew a short blade from a sheath on her thigh.

It was over in moments and Keith made a note of the prodigious strength in those extra appendages. Positioned as she was, her back turned to him, Keith couldn’t see Aiphos’ infamous third eye but the clustered soldiers ringing the prisoners wore various expressions of shock and revulsion.

“Lieutenant Commander Aiphos,” Lotor stated, deathly calm. She froze immediately, the tip of her knife digging into Throzt’s chest, over his heart. “I wish him to be kept alive.”

For just a split instant, Keith thought Aiphos would ignore the prince. Her temper was unstable at the best of times and attempting to attack Lotor would, to her eyes, be an unforgivable offense. Keith could practically see her need to protect Lotor warring with her desire to obey him.

Then she was once again releasing her captive, leaving him gasping and bleeding into the diamond patterned steel floor. It seemed obedience had won.

“Give them a few varga to cool their tempers and collect themselves in the holding cells,” Lotor ordered the soldiers. “They are hereby stripped of their ranks and re-assigned to custodial jobs when they are returned to duty.”

Keith watched the pure-blood galra being dragged away and wondered what the prince’s decision said about him. His behavior was confusing, at times apathetic or cruel; other times he had shown mercy, or at least dressed his cruelty up as mercy, as in the case of his sentencing of the pure-blooded officers. He was charming and gave his praise with surprising ease to the soldiers under his command, but his demeanor in the coliseum had shown how little value he placed on the lives of others.

In short, Lotor was an enigma. But he was Keith’s enemy, and that was enough for Keith. The rest he would report to his superiors, and let them be the judges of Lotor’s character.

 

XX

 

Lotor sent Keith to wake Lance and prepare him for dinner later that evening.

“I’ve already laid out an outfit for him,” the prince had said without looking up from his datapad. “Just get him to put it on. And don’t let him convince you he doesn’t have the right piercings for the jewelry, he can alter such a superficial thing at will.”

And so Keith found himself standing before the Chamber where it lay in the center of the lounge in the rooms next to Keith’s, alone with the cryopod, and the alien encased inside, for the first time.

He spent a long moment just watching the swirling fog within, eyes straining for a hint of Lance.  That draw to the alien that he couldn't explain or ignore tugged in his chest.  What did it mean?

A whorl of aqua light he recognized as part of a pattern on Lance’s belly shone, sudden and brilliant, from the darkness before being swallowed again. The sight galvanized Keith into action and he swiped hurriedly through the short list of command options that made up the Chamber’s holographic interface. It only took him a tick to find the right one and activate it.

The front panel of the crypod flipped back with a pneumatic hiss as the seals keeping it closed released and the purple smoke from inside dissipated as quickly as it had formed the night before. Eagerly, Keith peered into the Chamber’s gaping mouth in time to watch the glow fade from Lance’s marked skin.

He was utterly still for the space of one of Keith’s heartbeats, which were thundering loudly in his ears in his anxiety and excitement, and then the alien’s chest swelled as he sucked a deep breath in through his parted lips. His dark lashes fluttered against the wisp-thin skin beneath his eyes before they flew open.

Lance met Keith’s gaze and Keith felt his heart stumble over itself. “Hi,” he breathed into the air between them.

The alien’s brows furrowed. “Keith? What...How long has it been?” He hauled himself to a seated position within the Chamber and glanced around the elegantly furnished room in confusion.

“You went to sleep around seventeen varga ago,” Keith explained and reached for Lance in a panic when the alien jerked violently, banging his elbow against the inside of the crypod’s wall. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Are you lying to me, Keith?” Lance asked him in a tight voice. His eyes were intent on Keith’s, as if searching for any signs of deceit. Keith scowled.

“No! Why would I lie about that? Lotor just wants you up for dinner.”

Lance blinked.

“Lotor,” he repeated softly to himself. “Well why didn’t you just say so, Shaggyhead?”

Keith flattened his ears in frustration and stepped back from the Chamber. “Just put your clothes on. Lotor said he picked some out. He also said you had to wear the jewelry, so don’t even try to get out of it.”

He tried to ignore how effective the pouting face Lance made was in response to that before the alien stood from the Chamber and joined Keith beside the bed. Together, they stared down at the clothing laid out there.

“Counter idea,” Lance started, sounding a little strained. “You put on the clothes, I wear the gaudy blue and orange armor.” Keith snorted in response.

The outfit consisted of a large piece of gauzy, translucent fabric that might translate into a sleeveless, off-one-shoulder shirt, white pants very similar in style to the pair he was still wearing from the night before, and so much shining gold jewelry the bed seemed to be sparkling.

“Yeah that’s not going to happen,” he said, and the alien sighed.

“Come on Keith, here I thought we might have something special.” Keith startled at that but Lance was already moving on. He glanced down at the clothing again and ran his hand through his hair. “It’s easier to just go along with it,” he muttered, so quietly Keith wasn’t sure he was meant to hear.

And then he started tugging the golden adornments from the evening before off of his arms. Keith flushed when he realized he was staring, transfixed by the way the shining metal contrasted with the warm brown of Lance’s skin as he slid bangles over his forearms and rings from his fingers. He dropped the jewelry carelessly as he stripped it from his body; bracelets clattered noisily against the steel floor and rings rolled in every direction, disappearing beneath the furniture.

“An entirely new set seems a little excessive,” Keith remarked as Lance began to pluck golden studs from the length of his ear. “It would have made more sense to just leave the stuff you were already wearing on.”

The alien snorted. “You clearly don’t know Lotor very well.” The dangling purple crystal in his earlobe was the last piece of jewelry to go and once he’d tossed it over his shoulder (Keith heard it bounce off the far wall and crack against the ground) Lance seated himself on the edge of the bed and extended one long, slender leg. “Help me with this boot,” he instructed, waggling his foot from side to side.

Keith wrapped his hand reflexively around the heel that nudged against his side and stared down the length of Lance’s raised leg. The dark boot encased the limb to the knee, and above it Keith could just make out the flex of muscle beneath the tight fabric covering Lance’s thigh.

Keith’s mouth went dry, his heart rate spiked, and the small part of his brain that was still capable of thought wondered if the environmental controls were functioning properly because suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. Warmth pricked his palm where it was folded around the narrow back of Lance’s ankle, which wasn’t even possible because between the thick leather of the alien’s boot and the material of Keith’s own glove there was no way he should be feeling Lance’s body heat.

Keith’s short-circuiting brain managed to direct his eyes up Lance’s body to his face, and he was gratified to see he wasn’t the only one affected by the physical contact. Lance’s own eyes were wide and dark, his lips were parted, and a warm blush stained his cheeks and reddened the points of his ears. For a brief instant, Keith thought the sickle-shaped blue marks over his cheekbones might be glowing, just a little, but it had most likely been a trick from the flush.

‘ _What is happening to us!?_ ’ Keith’s mind screamed hysterically. The heat from their contact was spreading up his arm, a pleasant hum beneath his skin. He’d never responded so strongly to a touch before, didn’t recognize his reactions to Lance, and it terrified him to find his own body so out of his control. The only comfort was that Lance was obviously in the same condition. If he was the only one so strongly influenced by whatever it was between them, he wasn’t sure what he would've done.

Well, he still wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but luckily Lance was able to get them back on track. The alien cleared his throat and licked his lips, Keith’s eyes involuntarily tracking the movement, and then cleared his throat a second time before finally speaking.

“The boot? I uh...it. There’s no seam or fastening. It just has to be slid all the way on or off.”

The foot in Keith’s grip wiggled. Keith did some throat clearing of his own, ears twitching nervously, and slid his free hand slowly up the back of Lance’s calf, doing a careful search himself. Lance was right - he found no way to loosen the tight footwear.

“Who designed this thing?” he asked, scowling. Lance chuckled, a warm sound that had Keith’s ears flicking forward at full alert and an answering smile curling his mouth before he’d fully registered that he was the one to make Lance laugh. Something flipped sweetly in his belly.

“That’s what I said!” Lance grinned. “Zethrid didn’t have an answer but I could tell she thought it was a stupid idea too. She nearly took my leg off trying to get the blasted thing on.” He jiggled his leg again, forcefully enough that Keith tightened his hold at the ankle and wrapped his second hand firmly above Lance’s knee to keep him still. Through the thinner fabric of his pants Lance’s body was scalding. Keith’s heart rate, which had finally begun to level out, spiked again and he resolved not to go anywhere near Lance’s bare skin for fear of spontaneously combusting.

Thinking about touching Lance’s skin tripped his brain right back towards near-overload territory and he shoved those thoughts and any thoughts remotely related to them into a dark, dusty corner of his head and left them there. He’d worry about his ridiculous reactions later.

Much later. Preferably around the time he was dying of old age.

Instead he focused on the matter in his ha- _at_ hand. The boot, and how to get it off. “Stop moving,” Keith growled and Lance kicked once, apparently just to be contrary, before obeying. Keith huffed but didn’t call him on it.

“Any suggestions on where to start with this?” he asked Lance, who shrugged.

“Grab the heel and pull?”

So Keith did.

It took an embarrassing amount of time, effort, and cursing to get the damnable thing off of Lance’s leg, Keith kneeling before the bed and wrestling with it while Lance shoved at the top with both hands.

“Quiznak,” Lance panted, rubbing at his newly freed ankle where the skin was red and irritated from their struggle. “I hope the second one is easier.”

It wasn’t. When it finally slid loose Keith flopped over backwards, sprawling on the floor and gasping for air.

“Next time Lotor wants you to put these on, you should suggest he just cut off your feet instead,” he groaned. Lance huffed a weak laugh.

Things went fairly smoothly after that ordeal, Keith turning his back to offer Lance privacy while the alien swapped out his clothing for the outfit on the bed. He was extremely aware of Lance moving behind him, his cheeks warm, and when he was told it was safe to turn back around Keith did so cautiously.

Lance was snapping bands of shining gold in a variety of thicknesses around his biceps, loops of fine chain dangling from the widest ones on each arm to clink and tinkle against the others every time he moved. Thin golden ropes coiled around the graceful length of his neck and rings gleamed from his fingers as he plucked up a handful of studs and began to set them into the sharp edges of his ears.

A narrow, unornamented tiara joined the rest, nestled into the dark curls of Lance’s hair, and then there was only one piece of jewelry left waiting on the bed. Lance scowled at the short length of gold chain, as fine as those adorning his arms and attached to a tiny, studded bar.

“Is Lotor serious with this?” Lance practically growled, and Keith started. It was the first thing Lance had said in anger and he didn’t understand what about the tiny ornament had invoked the other’s ire.

“What’s wrong?” he asked tentatively. Lance sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. The rings circling his slender fingers flashed in the light.

“It’s meant for the dip in my belly,” he explained, and he looked so tired and so old in that moment that Keith’s chest hurt, his heart aching for this alien he barely knew.

“Lance,” he started, unsure what he was meant to say, of what words would offer any relief to the battered soul he could suddenly see behind Lance’s eyes.

The sound of his name seemed to snap the alien out of his brief melancholy and he scooped the offending jewelry off the bed and lifted the gauzy fabric of his shirt to reveal a small divot low on his stomach that was almost identical to the one on Keith’s own. A line of blue curled around it in a loose spiral.

Lance grit his teeth and pinched the thin skin on the lower rim of the little dip between his fingers and in one quick movement shoved the bar of the ornament through it. The flesh gave easily and though Lance flinched when it went in, the muscles in his abdomen tensing, there was no blood.

The entire process was over in a few ticks and Lance dropped the shirt so it fell back down to his hips. The fabric was so thin it was see-through and Keith scowled at the wink of gold when the chain shifted with even the most minute of Lance’s movements.

“I doubt this is what evolution had in mind when it developed the shape-changing powers,” Lance snorted, and Keith forced a smile through the rage suddenly pounding through his veins. This was a gross violation of Lance’s person, as superficial as it might seem in comparison to other threats prisoners generally faced, and Keith was torn between gratitude that Lotor wasn’t in the room, for the sake of his mission, and regret because separating the prince’s head from his shoulders would be immensely satisfying at that exact moment. Maybe Keith would shove some gold into his belly while he was at it.

Oblivious to Keith’s internal conflict, Lance held his arms up as if for inspection, the metal jewelry polished to such a shine that he gleamed like a sun. “Last chance to trade outfits,” he joked, smile back in place, and Keith scoffed.

“No shoes?” he asked instead of gracing Lance’s ridiculous comment with a reply, looking down at the other’s bare feet. Lance wiggled his toes and Keith noticed that they, too, had been beringed in gold. His earlier assessment hadn’t been quite accurate: excessive didn’t even begin to cover Lotor’s sartorial choices.

“Unless you want to try to get me back into those,” Lance pointed at the limp pile of boots they’d fought so hard to remove, “I think I’m meant to go barefoot.”

Keith winced. “We could uh, we could try?” Lance offered him a tiny, grateful smile.

“Thanks but he’d probably just make me take them off again and I have zero desire to undergo that humiliating ordeal at the dinner table. It’s undignified.” Keith nodded and waited awkwardly as Lance looked down at himself, noting the effect of the plain white clothing and elaborate jewelry against his dark skin and brilliant blue marks. When he met Keith’s eyes, that tired, ancient expression was back. “I’m a warrior, you know,” he told him, voice subdued.

Keith thought of the way Lance moved, graceful and controlled, and the easy way he had handled the secreted assassin’s knife the night before. He remembered Lance’s courage in the face of Zethrid’s resentment and Lotor’s taunts and too-intimate attentions, his expression as he’d plucked that belly ring from the bed. He reflected on the strength of will Lance had shown as he'd stepped up to the Chamber on shaking legs.

“I know,” Keith said.

 

XX

 

They made the trip to the officer’s dining hall together in a companionable silence that Keith found surprisingly comfortable. He was used to the quiet, having spent much of his life alone or with the others of his order who were not generally very outgoing, but it had never felt like this: as if he and Lance were alone together, offering each other their presence and not asking for or expecting anything more than that in return.

Reaching the dining hall doorway was a disappointment and for a brief, wild moment, he imagined grabbing Lance by the wrist and running. He slid his palm over the door’s scanner before that thought could fully develop.

They were late, courtesy of the boot fiasco, so the long table at the center of the room was already nearly full when they arrived, though a pair of seats to Lotor’s right had been left unoccupied. Keith recognized every senior command officer that served on Xorekar Station, all of them seated along the side of the table opposite the prince. Lieutenant Commander Aiphos sat to his left, next to the generals Acxa and Zethrid.

Keith escorted Lance to stand before the prince and snapped out a salute as the assembled hybrid-galra turned to look at the richly adorned alien with various amounts of curiosity. Prince Lotor smiled at their approach.

“Excellent work, Keith,” Lotor praised him as his eyes dragged down Lance’s gleaming form, lingering on the chain resting low on his stomach. From his spot slightly behind and to the right of Lance, Keith could see how the muscles in his back went taut with his discomfort. Keith bowed his head to hide his expression as he thanked the prince.

“It was no difficulty, Your Highness.”

Lotor hummed. “No. I can see that it wasn’t.” Lance twitched at the words but the prince didn’t seem to notice, instead turning to address the officers dining with him.

“This beautiful creature is my pet, Lance. You’ll have to forgive his manners, it’s been some time since he was permitted to sit down to a meal. The last time I invited him to dine with me he nearly cut out Zethrid’s eye - how long ago was that, now?” Lotor directed his question to Zethrid and Acxa but his eyes remained firmly fixed on Lance, a blade-sharp smile twisting his lips.

Zethrid growled out, “Ten years,” and Lotor laughed.

“How quickly time passes, hm, Lance?”

Lance’s back and shoulders were so tight Keith worried his spine would snap under the pressure. Keith’s own anger burned in his gut and his hand twitched toward his leg as if to grab his knife.

“In the blink of an eye,” Lance replied. In profile, his toothy smile looked like a snarl. “But don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I had the angle wrong, next time I’ll take the eye for sure.”

The assembled officers shifted, unsure how to respond, and Zethrid pushed her chair back and stood with a menacing rumble. Lotor just laughed in delight.

“Isn’t he something special? So long in captivity and still so headstrong. Even my father has failed to break him.” The prince motioned to the empty chairs. “Come sit,” he ordered. “You too, Keith. As you can tell, Lance can get feisty with the dinnerware and you need to be ready to keep him from doing anything drastic.”

The silence was awkward as they circled the table, Zethrid slow to return to her chair. Keith took the indicated seat next to Lance and filled his plate before conversation gradually resumed around them.

Keith listened to Lotor holding court with his gathered commanders and wondered if Lance would try anything while surrounded by so many enemies. He picked at his own food, but the alien overloaded his plate and then demolished the entire meal before reaching for a second helping.

_‘He’s definitely eating like it’s his first meal in ten years_ ,’ Keith thought, feeling a little sick, and dumped some of the pyjak dumplings from his own plate to Lance’s. The smile he received in return was dazzling.

The meal passed without incident, to Keith’s surprise. Lance ate until his belly poked out a little under the flimsy excuse for a shirt and Keith couldn’t help but grin at him. The alien responded by sticking his tongue out and Keith snorted.

Lotor’s sharp eyes on him reminded Keith of where he was and who was watching and his body went abruptly cold.The prince smiled a small, secretive smile at him that only served to put Keith even more on edge.

“Thank you for joining me for dinner, Lance. It was a treat to see you so at ease, and you didn’t try to harm anyone even once. I’m very impressed. Keith will escort you back to the Chamber.” Dismissing them, he turned his head to speak with Aiphos. Lance scowled at the back of Lotor’s head but rose from the table with Keith. Keith could feel the eyes of the assembled officers on them as they exited the hall.

“Holy quiznak,” Lance moaned when they were alone in the corridors once again. He flattened his hand over his stomach with a gusty sigh and gave it a few rubs.

‘ _Cute_ ,’ Keith thought, then barely refrained from slapping his own forehead. He was in dangerous territory, getting caught up in Lotor’s prized prisoner, but apparently he just couldn’t help himself. Funny, Keith hadn’t ever realized he had such a death wish. Lance’s voice drew him back from his borderline-hysterical thoughts.

“I don’t think I’ve eaten that much before, ever.” He opened his mouth around an impressively loud belch and shot Keith a crooked grin when he chuckled. “Honestly I was starting to think Lotor’s amazing plan was just to let me starve.”

His tone was joking but Keith blanched. Lotor himself had said it had been ten years, and Keith had no way of knowing how many times Lance had been out of cryo in that time, but the evening before he had sat for nearly seven varga without so much as a drink of water. How many accumulated varga, quintets even, had Lance gone, awake and aware, without a meal?

The anger that had smouldered in his gut since Lance had first woken over a quintet ago kindled into life as they reached the suite of rooms the Chamber was kept in. Keith swiped the door open with a barely-contained snarl and stomped across the small lounge to where the cryopod lay empty, the lid still open and waiting. Behind him, Lance froze.

“I uh. Do you think we could take some time first? I gotta digest some, right?” Lance was already trembling and Keith’s temper burned hotter. It wasn’t Lance he was angry at but Keith just wanted to leave, to go to his room and get some time away from the prisoner and the confusing, dangerous feelings he stirred up.

Keith growled, “Get in the Chamber, Lance,” with his teeth bared and, gasping for air and clearly terrified, Lance stepped closer to the cryopod.

And promptly vomited.

Keith cursed and rushed to his side as he heaved again, spewing the food he'd been so eager for over the polished floor. The shining gold tiara slipped from the crown of his head to roll through the puddle of sick. Tears dripped down his flushed cheeks and he was shaking when Keith took him by the arm and guided him away from the mess to slump on a low couch across the small room.

“Quiznak,” Lance croaked, head in his hands. “Quiznak, I’m sorry.”

Keith’s building temper flared to an inferno at Lance’s feeble words, overwhelming him, and “Why didn’t you stab me?” was coming out of Keith's mouth before he could stop himself, the words ringing with accusation.

That startled Lance out of his spiraling panic attack. He blinked his wet, wide eyes and stared up at Keith, towering over him. There was a thin trail of bile at the corner of his mouth.

“Stab you?” he asked, frowning. “What?”

“At the coliseum, last night. You were armed, everyone was distracted. The only thing between you and your freedom was me and you just stood there and handed the blade over without needing to be asked.” Keith was growling, the words ripping from his throat with a violence he couldn’t get a handle on. He wanted to grab Lance and shake him.

“Are you seriously mad about that?” Lance’s voice was loud and incredulous, shading into anger as his temper rose to meet Keith’s. “Sorry I didn’t stick you like an animal so I could run down a hallway only to get trapped behind a door. I don’t have the DNA to operate the blasted things, or did you think about that part?”

“There are ways around that, but you didn’t even try!” Keith was shouting now, his blood roaring in his ears. He watched Lance wipe the sick off his face with the expensive fabric of his shirt, his blue eyes burning Keith’s already overheated skin. “Instead you allowed yourself to be led back to the Chamber, trembling like an animal going to the slaughter. You let Lotor dress you like a docile doll and show you off like a spoilt pet.”

“Stop it!” Lance roared. There was something cracking open behind his eyes, behind the anger he drew around himself like armor. “Stop talking. You don’t know anything about this.”

“I know you claim to be a warrior but when the opportunity to _fight_ presents itself you hand over your weapon. You’re so well trained for Lotor, aren’t you? He doesn’t even have to look at you for you to roll over and show your belly. You’re a coward.”

“Says the one who follows Lotor around like a declawed cat!” The marks in Lance’s skin were suddenly, unmistakably glowing, incandescent with his rage and hurt but Keith couldn’t stop himself. His temper had consumed everything and he wasn’t in control of his tongue.

“Oh, I have claws,” Keith promised, teeth bared and ears back.

“That’s right, I watched you sharpen them on that rygnirathian, didn’t I?” Lance sniffed derisively. “Did you enjoy the way his blood soaked your hands? Are you proud that you got to show Lotor how easily you can murder for him?”

Keith snarled. “At least he went down fighting, rather than submit. Or is it the blood that bothers you? Don’t want to get your pretty, pampered hands dirty so you stay in your comfortable glass cage, all shiny and clean?”

Lance’s eyes, bright with anger, dimmed suddenly. That thing that Keith had seen cracking beneath the rage suddenly gaped wide and open and raw and he flinched. When Lance spoke, his voice was hard and furious. “You don’t know me. I’ve drowned in blood, watched it spill and spilled it myself, from my friends and enemies alike. I’ve fought a war, and a hundred battles before that. I’ve seen whole planets destroyed, entire races wiped from existence. So I’m sorry for not being all that eager to wipe you from existence, too, for a shot at freedom that was longer than even I could make, but you’ll have to get over it.

“Don’t think for one minute, Keith, that this is where I want to be, or that when the chance to get out comes, for real, I won’t grab it tightly with both hands and tear my way through anyone that gets in my way.”

Lance stood slowly and stepped past Keith where he stood, anger derailed and struggling with the guilt stirring in his heart and stomach, stripping his ruined shirt over his head and dropping it carelessly as he stalked over to the waiting Chamber.

“You don’t understand, and I was a fool to think you would,” Lance told him, his uncovered back to Keith as he stepped into the cryopod and stretched his body out along the bottom of it, bare skin on cold, uncushioned glass.

Keith knelt and looked down at him but Lance’s eyes were already closed. “You’re right. I don’t understand,” Keith snapped, no heat in his voice. His chest ached. “I don’t know anything about you. It’s not my job to. I just follow orders.”

If Lance had a response it was lost in the slam of the Chamber’s lid as Keith initiated the cryo-freeze process. He was already regretting the entire exchange as he watched Lance’s tense, angry face be shrouded in purple smoke. He needed some time though, some distance. Everything had changed so suddenly; in the span of a quintet he’d transformed from a focused, dedicated agent to someone lost, someone who wasn’t certain of his footing and couldn’t control his own reactions.

He’d been a fool to try to convince himself that Lance’s presence had changed nothing. Lance had stepped out of the Chamber and changed _everything_.

Keith needed to recalibrate. Tossing his mission - an important one that he’d been hand selected for: to gain knowledge of Prince Lotor - just wasn’t who he was. But it was exactly what he’d been daydreaming of outside the dining hall: grabbing Lance and running.

Even now that desire sang in his heart, quiet but difficult to ignore.

He spread his palm over the glass surface of the Chamber and let its chill cool his anger. It was tempting to wake Lance immediately and apologize, to explain himself and why he’d reacted the way that he had, to tell Lance that the rage hadn’t been for him, not really, but for the situation they had both found themselves in.

That wasn’t an option, it was just what he wanted. What he needed was to get himself under control. He had to re-evaluate his priorities and determine his next course of action, the same way he would on any mission that went ass over ears. Taking a few deep breaths and silently promising Lance that they would have a real conversation and set things right the next time they saw one another, Keith left the suite. Lotor hadn't indicated that he wanted Keith to return that evening, and he intended to spend a few varga in the training room.

On the way out he paged the custodial department, requesting they send someone to clean the mess of gold and vomit from the floor.

XX

 

Keith didn’t see Lance again for over a movement. The investigation into Lotor’s attempted assassination was still ongoing; Throzt and Lethox may not have supplied their codes for the rebel to use but someone had, and that someone was still somewhere on the base. Keith remained by Lotor’s side almost constantly, vigilant for any second attempts to harm the prince, though he was privately certain there wouldn’t be another any time in the near future, not with all of Xorekar Station on alert.

In addition, there’d been an explosion in the landing bay that hadn’t harmed anyone but had damaged several of the single-pilot fighter ships. It had crippled half of the fleet stationed there, and the funds and manpower that had been intended to expand the fighter’s ranks instead had to be diverted to replacing what had been lost.

It had taken Keith several quintets to figure out that Prince Lotor was seething over the attacks, his behavior barely altered from what Keith had grown used to seeing, but seething he was. He snapped frequently at Zethrid and Acxa and hardly slept, working constantly to redirect supplies and reinforcements from the rest of his forces scattered throughout the universe. As a direct result, Keith spent most of his time standing in the corner of Lotor’s private lounge or the officer’s conference room, listening to the prince coolly and pragmatically handle the small level disaster.

The chief engineers reported the explosion was an accident but Keith had doubts about that. It was all a little too convenient, slowing Lotor’s attempts to expand his power and rattling soldiers that were already on edge from the attempt on their prince’s life. Keith would eat his gauntlet if the perpetrator wasn’t the same organization - possibly even the same hidden agent - responsible for the almost-assassination.

Meanwhile, Keith was going out of his mind. He deeply regretted not waking Lance up to discuss things the night of their fight and had been sorely tempted every moment of free time since to sneak into the suite where the alien  was kept and open up the Chamber. It was only the fear that Lotor was somehow alerted every time the cryopod was opened that kept him in his own rooms at night. He couldn’t risk Lotor growing suspicious and forbidding Keith from seeing Lance at all.

In the end, it hadn’t taken Keith very long to acknowledge that his priorities were different now. The moment that tugging in his chest had lead him to Lance inside the Chamber, everything had changed. His mission was vitally important but he came from an organization of agents and spies, if he failed another would take his place and complete the objective.

There was only one Lance. Keith wouldn’t be able to explain or rationalize how he felt about the alien or why, but it was undeniable. Lance was important to him, possibly more important than the organization he’d been raised and trained by, that he’d sworn his life to. The real surprise was how easily he was able to accept such a drastic change to loyalties he’d never even thought to question.

Regardless, for the time being it was all academic. Freeing Lance wasn’t realistic just yet - he was missing too much information and having as many facts as he could get would be critical. In addition, there was no pressing rush to break him out, callous as it sounded. Lotor had yet to harm Lance, or even truly threaten him; he seemed content to make him uncomfortable and trade barbed comments, his motives for having Lance around at all unclear. For the time being, Keith could continue to fulfill his mission and wait for the right opportunity to get the alien out, though he would watch carefully to make sure he didn’t miss any signs of impending danger to Lance.

Having come to his decision and with a plan in place, Keith felt far more settled than he had when he and Lance had fought, possibly more than he’d felt since Acxa had opened the shuttle hatch to reveal the Chamber to him.

Keith escorted Prince Lotor into his lounge well past the seventeenth varga. The prince had spent the evening in talks with General Ezor, currently stationed on a destroyer-class ship orbiting Lotor’s most recently captured planet. From what Keith could tell, the leaders of the planet had submitted to Lotor’s rule rather than face having their people enslaved, and the integration of the prince’s command structure into the planet’s government was going smoothly.

It was a little jarring; Keith had known that Lotor preferred to allow his conquered planets to remain under the control of their native population, but after a lifetime of witnessing Zarkon’s preference for enslaving and destroying, it was hard to believe the reports of Lotor’s more light-handed methods. Keith had watched the proof on the vidscreen in Lotor’s office for over half a quintet, though, and had seen the prince’s methods at work. He was eager to send a report to his superiors.

He was composing that report in his head when he swiped open the door to Lotor’s private suite and stepped over the threshold behind the prince, only to stop abruptly. Lance was seated on the low couch next to General Acxa, dressed in black and silver and gnawing ravenously at a bone from a diricawl leg.

He froze the moment he spotted Keith, mouth hanging open around the length of stripped bone and eyes wide. Keith’s heart squeezed in his chest, warmth curling in his stomach at the sight of him. Oh, but he’d missed Lance more than he’d even realized.

Lotor snorted and Lance dropped his arm, flushing.

“I see you couldn’t be bothered to wait,” the prince said, crossing the room to take a seat opposite Lance and Acxa and motioning for the latter to pour his wine. She filled a glass for Keith as well before resuming whatever she was working on in her datapad. Keith moved forward slowly, unable to tear his eyes off of Lance, who seemed just as transfixed by Keith himself.

_I’m sorry_ , Keith willed his gaze to convey. _I didn’t mean those things that I said and I’m sorry_. He wasn’t sure if Lance got the message but the alien dipped his chin in a subtle nod before reaching for another roasted leg.

There was enough food spread out on the low couch table for the four of them, and Keith wondered how he’d missed Lotor ordering it to be prepared. The prince must have planned the meal in the early morning, before Keith had joined him.

Dinner seemed to drag on for a short eternity; Keith was almost desperate to get Lance alone so that he could explain himself and beg for his forgiveness for his atrocious behavior. He could feel the alien’s eyes on him as he tore into the roasted meat and hard bread and he didn’t look away when Keith met his eyes, just held the contact until Keith remembered himself and their company and broke it.

Lotor seemed intent on relaxing, drinking liberally from the bottle of starberry wine and plucking fat, glittering yellow berries from a small crystal bowl in the center of the table. Their juice boasted mild hallucinogenic properties and as he bit into them they stained his teeth and tongue a shocking, vibrant pink. The prince held one to Lance’s lips, the ripe fruit pinched between his elegant fingers, his own pink-tinted mouth smirking.

Keith’s heart squeezed, though whether it was in reaction to Lotor’s attempt to hand feed the alien or the fact that a serious conversation with Lance would be impossible if the other wasn’t in his right mind, he couldn’t tell. Likely both. Almost definitely both.

Lance offered the prince a teasing smile, his dark lips framing the shining fruit for a brief moment before he shook his head. “You know what blichi berries do to me,” he told Lotor in a saccharine voice. “I’d be lost in the stars for a movement. Completely worthless for whatever you had in mind when you stole me away.”

Lotor shrugged and made a show of biting into the berry himself. The juice oozed in a glistening trail from the corner of his mouth and his tongue slid over his lips, lapping it up. Lance shot Keith an amused look from the corner of his eye and Keith had to bite his lip to stifle a grin in return. The prince’s antics were more than a little ridiculous.

“I told you Lance, I brought you here to have fun. I seem to recall you were always happiest flying about the stars.” Keith didn’t understand Lotor’s intended jab but it seemed to have hit home. Lance’s expression closed off, his eyes darkening, and Keith wanted to swipe his claws over Lotor’s smug face. The impulse was easy enough to resist and he was grateful. His movement of soul-searching was showing results - even around Lance Keith felt almost entirely in control of himself.

Acxa chose that moment to bring a transmission from the fourth of Lotor’s generals, Narti, to the prince’s attention. A half varga later Lotor was the one lost in the stars, his eyes foggy and unfocused and his words slurred past the point of coherency. Acxa pursed her lips as she watched him slip further and further into the thrall of the blichi berries and finally, she put her datapad away and stood.

“Keith, please take Lance back to the Chamber. You’re dismissed for the night,” she told him.

Keith didn’t need to hear it twice. He and Lance were out of the room as quickly as they could manage short of outright running and down the hall in a matter of ticks. He pressed his palm to the scanner to access Lance’s suite and ushered the alien inside.

“Lance I’m sorr-”

“I’m sorry I-”

Keith stared at Lance as they both froze, having spoken over one another the moment the door slid shut. Lance rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, a flush crawling across the bridge of his nose.

“Wanna sit down?” he asked, and Keith nodded, grateful for the few extra ticks to organize his thoughts as he followed Lance across the room to the low couch. Lance sat almost exactly where he’d been the last time they’d been together, when they’d fought, and Keith swallowed as he settled a short way down from the alien.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment; Keith drew a deep breath to gather his courage, his ears twitching anxiously. Lance, who had opened his own mouth, closed it again and waited, allowing Keith the opportunity to voice his thoughts first. He was grateful, he wasn’t convinced he’d have the guts to start a second time.

“I’m sorry for the way I blew up at you last movement, Lance.” Lance blinked at him, surprised, and Keith soldiered on before he could lose his nerve. He’d never had to apologize for hurting someone before, and was finding it surprisingly difficult. “I wasn’t actually angry at you, I was angry at the whole situation, at having to see you starved and mocked and treated like an animal. Watching that happen and not being able to stop it, it made me so mad I couldn’t think - it wasn’t anything you did and it wasn’t your fault.”

Lance opened his mouth but Keith held up his hand, shaking his head frantically. “No, please, I’ve got to finish.” He bit his lower lip but nodded, his eyes intent on Keith. Beneath his fur, Keith’s skin prickled with the heat of that gaze and he had to lick his lips and clear his throat before he could continue. Evidently, Lance’s impact on him was much stronger in close, private quarters.

“I know that you wouldn’t have gotten anywhere but dead with that assassin’s knife that night in the coliseum. And I don’t actually want you to stab me,” he chuckled but it was weak to his own ears, which flattened against his head miserably. “I’m so, so sorry about the things I said and called you. I _know_ that you’re a fighter, and a warrior, and brave. I’ve seen it all for myself.

“And you were right when you said I don’t understand your situation, or what the hell is going on between you and Lotor, or any of it. But whether it’s my job or not, I want to. It scared me that I wanted to because I don’t _feel_ that way, not about anyone. I’ve never felt anything even close to what I feel for you and we hardly know each other. I don’t even know what species you are!” Keith felt his temper spark, frustrated at the situation and how completely he was failing at conveying what he needed Lance to understand, but he quickly reigned it in.

Lance just watched him, an odd expression on his face that Keith almost thought could be hope. It was an emotion he hadn’t had a lot of experience with in his short life, but he didn’t know what else to call Lance’s shining eyes, his parted lips, the sincerity on his earnest face. Whatever it was, it gave Keith the last bit of strength he needed to spit out his final confession.

“I won’t lie, it still scares me. But I don’t want to fight it. I don’t want to fight you, Lance.”

Lance’s brilliant eyes were sparkling, and it took Keith a moment to realize that there were tears pooling along the thick line of his lower lashes. He had a split tick to panic, terrified he’d said the wrong thing, that Lance didn’t want him or his feelings, and then Lance was reaching up to brush the liquid away with a watery laugh.

“I’m sorry, I just. You can feel it, too?” he asked, staring at Keith with something like wonder. “I didn’t know what was happening to me, and it’s stupid, quiznak is it stupid, but from the moment I saw you waiting outside that dumb icebox I felt like I could trust you.”

Keith scooted closer to Lance on the couch, something hot and sparkling blooming in his chest. “You couldn’t tell? I felt like it was so obvious it was practically written across my forehead.” Lance snorted, his voice sounding stronger when he replied.

“You’re kidding right? Your face has one setting and that setting is grumpy. Figuring out what you’re thinking is like trying to pick out targets with my eyes covered and my ears clogged. Only your fluffy ears give me any hints, but they’re not saying much.” A smile curled the corners of his mouth, bright with excitement and warm with something Keith was tempted to call affection. The ears in question pricked forward, the left one flicking when Lance laughed.

The alien shifted slightly, turning to face Keith more directly. The new position left his knee pressing firmly against Keith’s own and the contact sent heat sparking in Keith’s belly and zipping up the length of his spine. He watched a fine shiver sweep over Lance’s long body in awe. He’d known that night he’d helped tug off Lance’s ridiculous boot that the alien felt the same connection that pulled at Keith, but owning up to the feelings had changed everything in ways he couldn’t fully identify yet. Watching Lance’s response to Keith’s presence and touch made him eager to explore the wild, energized thing between them.

But Lance had only admitted to feeling the connection; he hadn’t expressed any desire to explore it further. Keith’s heart sank and his drooping ears must have given him away because Lance’s smile dropped into a frown.

“What is it?” he asked, reaching for Keith’s hand. Keith considered pulling away but it would take more willpower than he possessed to deny Lance, or himself, the touch. He didn’t answer the question, just watched Lance lace their fingers together. The alien scowled briefly at their joined hands and then his face brightened. Keith started when Lance began to release the fastenings of his gloves with nimble, practiced fingers.

“I literally just told you you’re difficult to read, Keith. You’re gonna have to give me some clues here.” He tugged at the end of Keith’s longest finger and began to slide the glove off. Keith’s heart rate spiked. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth when he tried to shape a reply.

“You didn’t say - if you don’t want this, to explore this, with me. I mean, you don’t have to feel-” he cut himself off as shame slithered down the back of his neck, slimy and cold, a sharp counterpoint to the heat of Lance’s presence.

The alien paused in his work, the glove caught on Keith’s thumb. He searched Keith’s eyes, trying to decipher what Keith had failed so spectacularly to convey. A long tick, and his expression smoothed into something serious and heavy, his eyes dark. He eased the rest of the glove off and pressed his palm flat against the bare skin of Keith’s own and Keith _burned_. Every nerve ending sang at the direct, unobstructed touch and Keith swore he could see sparks where their hands met.

Lance exhaled shakily, lacing their fingers together again, his cheeks flushed and his eyes hooded. The blue markings that decorated his body glowed, mirroring the fire under Keith’s own skin. Keith’s heart hammered against his ribcage as if it were desperate to break free.

“Whatever this is,” Lance choked out, “It’s special. And I’m going to fight to keep it. I’m going to fight to keep you, Keith.”

Keith couldn’t breathe but he nodded because he wanted this, wanted Lance more than he’d ever wanted anything. He would fight to keep it, too.

“Keith, I’ve lost everything. Every single thing I’ve ever even remotely cared about is gone. And quiznak, I’m terrified that I’ll lay down in that Chamber and close my eyes and you’ll be lost to me, too,” his voice was quiet and shaking, his gaze unwavering, his fingers tight around Keith’s. It felt like the shape of Lance’s hand would be seared into his own. Keith hoped that it would be, so that every time he looked down at his palm he’d see proof that this thing between the two of them was real.

“I’m scared, Keith,” Lance told him. “But you make me feel brave.”

Keith’s heart slammed fiercely in his chest and finally cracked wide open, aching and raw and genuine in a way nothing had ever felt for him before. “We’re going to get you out of here, Lance. Together. But I need information, knowledge. Help me understand.”

Lance drew several slow, deep breaths, his hand in Keith’s softening but no less warm for the gentler grip.

“Okay,” he said, and Keith recognized the hard edge to his tone as Lance steeled himself. “Okay,” he repeated. Tentatively, Keith stroked his thumb down the back of Lance’s long hand, silently offering his support.

“My homeworld,” Lance began, “was a planet called Altea.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance tells his story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost forgot! For Brittany and Caitlin, for whom I would believe in the impossible and also offer to trade awful outfits.

“My homeworld,” Lance began, “was a planet called Altea.” There was something in his voice, in his eyes, in the way his hand tightened suddenly around Keith’s and the way he’d said _I’ve lost everything_ that tore razored claws across Keith’s heart. He didn’t know of any planets called Altea and that was enough to tell him that the story Lance was about to share didn’t have a happy ending.

‘ _Y_ _et,’_ he insisted to himself. ‘ _It doesn’t have a happy ending because it hasn’t ended._ _It’s going to get better_.’

“Have you ever heard of Voltron?” Lance asked suddenly, and Keith blinked at the apparent non-sequitur, ears twitching back.

“The child’s tale?” he asked, unsure how it related to Lance’s homeworld.

“Child’s tale?” Lance’s eyebrows furrowed, genuinely confused.

Keith nodded, racking his brain to remember how the tales went. “The Defender of the Universe. A giant cosmic being that protected planets from galactic monsters and stuff like that. An ‘a long time ago, in a galaxy far away’ type of thing.” He’d only heard the stories a few times; the agents who had raised him hadn’t been interested in sharing fanciful tales when there were more important, practical things to be taught.

Lance snorted, shaking his head. A curl of brown hair swept into his eyes and Keith was sorely tempted to brush it away, but he wasn’t yet sure where the lines lay between them and it wasn’t the time to find out.

“Oh Voltron was definitely real,” Lance said, leaning back into the sofa cushions and folding his legs up against his chest. His fingers twitched excitedly around Keith’s hand. “And he was less a cosmic being and more a giant, ass-kicking robot.”

Keith frowned and wondered if the Chamber had scrambled Lance’s memories somehow, blurring the edges of story and reality. He seemed entirely confident in what he was saying, though, as he continued, “And Voltron himself was formed by five smaller robots - single-pilot ships in the shape of enormous lions, one for each limb and a fifth for the chest and head.” As if realizing how ridiculous his description sounded he shook his head again, cheeks flushing.

“I know it sounds a little unbelievable but you’re gonna have to trust me on this one. Just imagine the most awesome quiznaking robot you can and then multiply it by like ten and you’ll have Voltron. He really was the Defender of the Universe and he really did fight galactic monsters from another dimension. _We_ fought galactic monsters - the Paladins of Voltron.”

Keith was trying to work out the logistics. “Five smaller ships with individual pilots -”

“Lion ships,” Lance interjected and Keith frowned at him for the interruption.

“And they came together to form one giant robot,” he continued, and received an encouraging nod in response.

“And then out of those five, who piloted Voltron?” Lance’s expression turned a little sheepish at that, and when he spoke his tone was defensive.

“All five paladins did. Each one controlled the limb that their Lion became. There was a mind-link, which I know sounds a little crazy but it worked! I piloted the Blue Lion and formed the right leg.” He stuck out his own long limb to illustrate, kicking at the air and making whirring noises. Keith found himself briefly distracted by the flex of Lance’s leg and the playful expression on his face, his blue eyes twinkling.

In all honesty, Keith had some doubts. Whatever he’d been expecting from Lance’s explanation, it hadn’t been _I piloted a giant lion ship that helped form a robot that I controlled via mindmeld_ but something was niggling at the back of his brain. A debrief he’d overheard once, before he’d come to Xorekar; a report about Zarkon, and lions.

It was something, at least, and he’d already decided to put his faith in the connection linking him to Lance. Trusting the alien - altean? - was a part of that faith.

He stroked the fingers on his free hand down the inside of Lance’s wrist and watched him shiver while flames licked at his own skin - proof that what was between them was very real. And if there could be some powerful, unnamed connection between two strangers from different times and different species, Keith could believe that there could be lion ships, a mind-link, and even a Defender of the Universe.

“Okay,” he told Lance, meeting his sparkling blue eyes. “So you were a pilot of Voltron. A uh, paladin, was it?” Lance nodded. “And you controlled the leg.” Another nod, accompanied by another sweeping kick. Keith’s mouth twitched at the ridiculous gesture but he quickly sobered. “But Voltron isn’t around anymore.”

Lance’s face fell and he let his foot drop to the floor. Keith’s stomach twisted with regret as he watched the light fade from Lance’s eyes and his posture slump as if a weight had suddenly been returned to his shoulders. He didn’t have a choice but to press him for more information, though. He needed to know how being a Paladin of Voltron led to Lance being trapped in a cryopod on Lotor’s base. He brushed his thumb over Lance’s in apology but the altean didn’t smile.

“Zarkon broke faith with the king of Altea - Alfor. He betrayed him, and everyone. After the destruction of the galra homeworld -”

“Daibazaal?” Keith interrupted, surprised. Lance didn’t look at him when he nodded. “That was over ten thousand years ago.”

“Yeah,” Lance whispered quietly and Keith felt reality tip sideways, a rushing sound filling his ears. It wasn’t possible. He’d known Lance had been a prisoner for some time, given the cryopod, but the idea of Lance at Zarkon’s mercy for several millennia was unfathomable, unacceptable.

“You were alive for that?” he choked out, and Lance turned again to face him. The altean didn’t look any older than Keith himself.

“I was there when it happened,” he said, his voice heavy and cracking with grief and his eyes far away, staring into memories of a wildly distant past. “The planet was being consumed by a portal from another dimension, monsters were pouring out, everything was dangerously unstable. It was decided that Voltron had no choice but to destroy the portal, even at the cost of the planet. I spent over a movement evacuating everyone that I could before we had no other choice but to act.”

Keith wondered if it should mean something to him, hearing about the destruction of the planet that had given rise to his race, but it didn’t. Daibazaal was barely an idea anymore, and the galra were spread so far across the universe that essentially every planet could be considered theirs. No, the ache in his heart was for Lance, still so stricken by what he’d witnessed and what he’d played a part in. Without thinking, Keith lifted the back of the altean’s hand to his lips.

Heat crackled across his skin and kindled in his gut and Lance gasped, drawn back into the present by the surge of fire born from their connection. He exhaled shakily and met Keith’s eyes, offering a tiny, grateful smile and tightening his hold on Keith’s hand.

“After Daibazaal, what happened?” Keith prompted after a moment, lips brushing against smooth, dark skin.

Lance had to clear his throat before he could speak but when he resumed his story his voice was stronger than it had been, his courage bolstered by Keith’s support.

“Zarkon went mad. He attacked Altea. We lost the Black Paladin when Daibazaal was destroyed, and without him we couldn’t form Voltron. Altea had come to rely on the paladins to protect her people and had always favored diplomacy and peace over warmongering. There was no hope that she could stand against an army the size and strength of Zarkon’s.

“We fought anyway. The Lions were formidable weapons in their own right and the Paladins of Voltron were elite warriors. We turned the tide where we could but the warfront spanned an entire star system and we were only four ships.”

The desperate hopelessness of that time was reflected in Lance’s voice. He clung to Keith’s hand so tightly the galra thought his bones might break, but he didn’t try to loosen Lance’s grip.

“And then the Castle of Lions - the command center for Voltron - was nearly overrun, and we had no choice but to fall back to protect it.” Keith’s ears folded against his head. He didn’t want to hear anymore, didn’t need the shattered expression on Lance’s face to know what was going to come next. Zarkon had been conquering the universe for ten thousand years with no opposition to speak of, and it didn’t take a genius to read the signs.

“King Alfor ordered us to leave the fight and hide our Lions,” Lance said quietly, his voice hoarse. Keith could hear the anger in it, directed at his long dead king. “I wanted to stay, to try to find a pilot for the Black Lion so we could form Voltron, to do _something_. The others agreed with me, but the king wasn’t willing to risk the Lions falling into Zarkon’s hands. Voltron was the ultimate weapon and with him, Zarkon would be unstoppable.” He choked out a bitter laugh that tore at Keith’s heart. “It didn’t make much of a difference in the end, since nobody’s managed to stop him anyway.”

“If Voltron is as powerful as he sounds -” Keith tried, but Lance shook his head.

“Arguing about the order is no good now,” he growled, but he rubbed his thumb along Keith’s to soften the statement’s sharp edge. “We did as we were told. I spirited Blue away, hid her somewhere safe and unknown, and then I ignored King Alfor’s orders to lay low and protect her and returned to the war.”  
  
“You went back to die,” Keith said dully, because he could see Lance so clearly, grieving and desperate, throwing himself back into a war that had already been lost. Lance flinched but met his eyes, full of sorrow but unashamed. It was answer enough.

Keith didn’t think his heart could break anymore than it already had, but cracks continued to spider across its surface.

“I couldn’t sit quietly, hidden and safe while my people were destroyed,” Lance said, and Keith nodded because if nothing else, he understood the need to die for something greater than oneself, to give one’s death meaning.

“I did some damage - they used to call me the best shot in the universe for a reason - but one soldier wasn’t going to change anything. When I took a rifle beam to the chest, I thought it was over.” He rubbed against his sternum with the hand that wasn’t clinging to Keith and, now that he looked closer, Keith could just make out the faint, lighter outline of a wide round scar visible above the low collar of his shirt. It had been well healed, likely by a druid, given the way the damage was almost entirely unnoticeable, but it should have been a kill shot. Someone had gone out of their way to save Lance’s life.

“Next time I woke up, I was a guest of Zarkon. He asked me a lot of questions: wanted to know where Blue was hidden, demanded I take him to the Castle of Lions. I spat in his face. It was incredibly heroic.” Lance struck a pose, obviously proud of himself, and Keith couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I told him he shouldn’t have wasted his time healing me because I wasn’t ever going to give him what he wanted and he could go quiznak himself.” Keith could picture that easily as well: Lance, injured and foolish and lionhearted, clinging to bravado when nothing else was left.

Lance’s proud grin slipped off his face. “He promised me I would be begging to tell him what he wanted to know by the time he finally let me die and threw me in a holding cell. I was prepared for torture and more questions but I just kinda sat around for a long time. I thought he was going to try to break me down with solitary confinement and laughed because even if I went mad, I’d never give away Blue. A phoeb later, Haggar showed up with the Chamber.”

Haggar - the head of Emperor Zarkon’s druids, a cruel and twisted creature with the kind of power that was only whispered about in darkened corners. It shouldn’t have surprised Keith that the Chamber was hers.

“They put me under and the next time they woke me up was to watch Altea and all the planets in her system burn.”

The statement was delivered in a cracking voice and Lance seemed to fall apart, instantly and all at once, the moment he finished speaking; as if by giving voice to the words he had finally ripped open the part of himself that had kept the agony at bay for ten thousand years. Keith was pulling the shaking altean into his arms before he’d fully registered his own movement and Lance curled into him, shuddering and gasping for air.

Keith wasn’t sure what to do. He had no experience comforting anyone but any awkwardness was smoothed over by a desperate need to offer Lance any relief he could. He pressed his forehead into Lance’s soft hair and stroked his arms, folding himself around the altean and wishing he wasn’t wearing the armor of a galra officer, that he wasn’t galra at all because being a member, even a half-blooded one, of the race that had caused Lance such devastating grief was unbearable.

His chest burning as if he’d been cleaved open, Keith made quiet shushing noises as he carefully rocked himself and Lance back and forth. He wasn’t sure Lance was even hearing him. The altean wasn’t crying but he was shaking violently and drawing in desperate, heaving breaths as if he were in danger of suffocating. The gentle rocking motions seemed to help, though, and he relaxed into Keith’s hold in minute increments until Keith was certain he was the only thing keeping Lance from slumping to the floor. He pressed his lips carefully, softly against the crown of Lance’s head and resolved to hold him as long as he needed the support.

Keith had never had a home, not really. Sometimes, during weaker points in his life, when his heart wouldn’t settle in his chest and the longing for something he couldn’t name became too great, he’d hide himself away and gaze out at the stars and imagine that somewhere out there, in the endless unknown of space, there was a place that he belonged.

He’d never pictured anything concrete, not even blurred faces on shapeless forms, just the feeling of being where he was meant to be, where he was wanted and accepted and valued. He’d stared out into that sparkling void and wondered what it was like to be whole, to have that gaping hole in the center of him filled rather than covered over by missions and training and fighting. The closest he’d ever come was the way his sword felt in his hand, like it was a part of him.

Keith had always been told that having something to lose only invited ruin and, seeing Lance wrecked by his overwhelming loss, Keith wondered if he was lucky for never having had a place to belong. It was impossible to lose what you never had, and Keith had never had anything.

Only, that wasn’t quite true anymore. Holding Lance while he struggled to put himself back together, Keith was hurt as deeply by the altean’s pain as he had ever been by his own. He cared for him; he wanted to protect him from every kind of threat, not just the physical ones. Keith wanted Lance to be happy and couldn’t bear to see him in pain.

He realized, like a blow to his chest that knocked all the air from him, that the tug that had drawn him to Lance had come from that gaping place in Keith’s center. In the space of an instant, Lance had made himself a home there. In the same moment, he had become a home for Keith.

For the first time in his life, Keith had something - someone - to lose.

It terrified him but it also gave him strength. Keith had something to protect, a reason to fight beyond _this was what I was trained to do and all I’ve ever known_ , and he was nearly overwhelmed with the heady feeling of it. In his arms, Lance sighed.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and Keith hugged him tighter for a moment.

“Don’t be,” Keith said, equally softly. Frustratingly, despite his new revelation he hadn’t become any better at words. With a resigned sigh, he loosened his hold to allow Lance to sit back up, secretly pleased when the altean chose to remain where he was.

“So that’s what Zarkon wants from me,” Lance finally said after a few more dobashes of silence. “I know things he doesn’t and he wants the information badly enough to turn me into an ice cube to buy him time to get it from me. Wouldn’t do him any good if I died of old age before my stubbornness gave out.”

Keith gave a quiet snort, amused. “I think Zarkon himself will die of old age before your stubbornness gives out.” Lance grinned, and if it was weak around the edges Keith didn’t mention it.

“That doesn’t explain how you wound up here on Lotor’s base,” he pointed out, fingers stroking down the warm length of Lance’s firm bicep. He was loathe to press Lance any further after he had already shared so much of himself, but there were answers Keith had to have. However, Lance didn’t seem to know them either.

“Beats me. Lotor was around here and there when Zarkon or Haggar would drag me out of my ice box for another round of Where’s the Lion and sometimes Zarkon would let him do the questioning just to spice things up but…” he trailed off with a shrug. “To be honest, I kinda thought they’d had a falling out. He disappeared for a long time, and it must have been a while if even I noticed. Time’s been pretty distorted for me. One time I slept an entire thousand years away when the Chamber was misplaced.”

Keith could feel the tremor that went through Lance at that, despite his deliberately casual tone, and it was easy to discern the source of Lance’s terror when it came to the Chamber. To be entirely suspended, with nobody searching for him, not knowing if or when he’d wake again but never allowed even to die...Keith hugged Lance closer again and rubbed his cheek against the top of his head. Lance relaxed again with a soft exhale.

“It won’t happen again,” Keith promised fiercely. “I swear to you, every time you go into that box I will make sure you wake up. You’re not alone anymore and you won’t be forgotten again, Lance.”

Lance moved away suddenly and Keith immediately released him, certain he’d said the wrong thing for sure this time, but the altean was just putting enough space between them so that he could sit up, meeting Keith’s eyes with his own serious gaze.

“You’re not alone either, Keith,” he said solemnly.

Keith’s heart squeezed in his chest and his cheeks heated. He pulled Lance close again to hide his sudden vulnerability, and the altean went easily, tucking his face into Keith’s neck. Keith could feel the curl of Lance’s lips against his skin.

“Anyway, Lotor,” Lance continued his explanation as if he hadn’t stopped. “He was around for a bit a while back and kept dragging me out to dress me up for dinner or whatever it was. I’m really not sure what the goal was there but after I almost took off Zethrid’s face I thought he might have gotten the message that it wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Next thing I know, I’m waking up here on Xorekar and you’re standing across the room being awed by my beauty.”

Keith’s flush, which had been gradually receding, returned with a vengeance. “That’s isn’t -” he growled, “That’s not how it happened!” Lance was shaking in his arms, his chuckles tickling the fur lining Keith’s throat.

“Are you sure? Because I was there and you seemed pretty blown away.”

“Blown away that some scrawny little thing with a death wish was flirting with Zethrid right in front of me, you mean.”

Lance outright laughed at that. “Hey, she might be big, mean, and excessively violent but even she can’t resist the Lance Charm.”

Keith groaned, ears twitching. “If that’s what you have to tell yourself.”

“Setting aside the fact that it’s totally the truth that Zethrid finds me irresistable,” Lance said, and ignored Keith’s snort with a dignified expression, “Lotor’s trouble, Keith. I don’t know what he’s got me here for but I can almost guarantee it’s against daddy’s orders. Zarkon is obsessed with getting his hands on Voltron, and short of scouring the entirety of the universe - which hasn’t worked so far, by the way; when the paladins decide to hide something they _hide_ it - I’m the only source of information he’s got.”

“And not knowing Lotor’s motives makes him more dangerous than even Zarkon,” Keith concluded. Lance sighed but nodded, the gesture dragging his soft hair along Keith’s jaw. Keith valiantly resisted the urge to bury his face in it. “We’ll figure something out,” he said instead. “I’m in exactly the right position to find out what Lotor’s got going on, and these rooms are actually next door to mine. If anything happens, I’ll grab you and we’ll go.”

It wouldn’t be that easy, and he knew that Lance was entirely aware of that, but having a plan seemed to reassure them both. Lance’s arms wound around Keith’s chest and he squeezed him gently.

They stayed like that for nearly a varga before Keith reluctantly returned Lance to the Chamber. The altean climbed in without protest, only the faintest tremor in his long limbs betraying his fear. Right before the lid flipped closed, Lance met his eyes. “See you soon?” he asked, clearly seeking reassurance. Keith smiled at him, and when he spoke it was with all the conviction he’d ever possessed.

“I promise.”

 

XX

 

If Keith hadn’t seen Lotor soaring through berry-induced stars the night before, he would never have believed that the prince had spent the evening overindulging. He was as composed and sharp as ever when he left his quarters shortly after the sixth varga, Keith in step behind him.

For his part, Keith was exhausted. He hadn’t returned Lance to the Chamber until a few varga before he had to rise for his duties, and their conversation had been perhaps the most emotionally charged one Keith had ever had. Remembering Lance’s face as he’d spoken of his destroyed home, Keith’s stomach twisted. He suddenly found bowing and scraping to Lotor more distasteful than he ever had before, and had to actively keep his temper in check in a way he hadn’t since that first quintet that Lance had been awakened.

Keith leaned against the wall by the doorway and kept half an eye on Lotor where the prince was reading reports off of the glowing surface of his desk while he considered everything he’d learned from Lance. It had occurred to him that the best choice for his next course of action would be to send a thorough report to his organization. Finding the pieces of Voltron was enough of a priority for Emperor Zarkon that he’d kept a prisoner alive for ten thousand years, and that couldn’t be ignored. More relevant to Keith’s mission, though, was Lotor’s decision to steal Lance and bring him to Xorekar Station.

If Lotor were to somehow get his hands on Voltron - but no. Lance had looked Keith in the eyes and laughed at the idea of betraying his Lion’s secret location and every instinct Keith had was telling him that the altean would die before he ever shared that information with Prince Lotor. The more immediate concern was that the prince was actively defying his father.

It was a bold move, and as openly defiant as he could get without outright declaring war against the Empire. It was a clear sign that things were about to begin changing in a big way and Keith needed to pass that knowledge along before he did anything drastic, like steal Lance away himself.

In addition, it was entirely possible his commanding officers would feel it worth the risk of discovery to rescue the paladin from his captivity. Though Keith knew down to his core that Lance wouldn’t reveal Voltron’s resting place, removing him from the situation would negate the threat entirely, keeping the legendary Defender out of either Zarkon’s or Lotor’s hands. Their intervention would be Keith’s best bet for getting the altean to safety.

It was decided then. Keith needed to get an encrypted report out as quickly as possible.

He wondered if he should explain to Lance about his organization. It would give the altean some idea of what to expect, and maybe give him a little more hope, but it had been ingrained in Keith since before he could even speak that he should never tell anyone about who he worked for. He trusted Lance, but this was one secret he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to share.

He was pulled from his contemplation by the hiss of the heavy door sliding open, and Lieutenant Commander Aiphos stepping into the small, spartan office Lotor had commandeered. She bowed low.

“My prince, I had thought to update you on our investigation into the traitor amongst our ranks,” she purred after Lotor had greeted her. From his place behind her Keith could see that her three tails were relatively still. He had learned enough about Aiphos’ mannerisms to recognize that she wasn’t impressed by whatever information had been gathered.

Lotor leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers in front of him, resting the tips of them on his chin.

“Report then, Aiphos.” She straightened to a parade rest, hands folded behind her.

“I assigned a force of technological experts to the task of determining how the door codes and information regarding your personal preferences was relayed. They have identified signs of several encrypted transmissions leaving Xorekar Station over the course of the past two phoebs.” The chill in her voice was enough to drop the temperature in the room several degrees, and the hair along Keith’s spine stood on end.

For the first time, Keith recognized the possibility that, in the search for the rebel faction’s informant, his own illicit activities would be discovered. His fingers curled into his palm and he had to consciously keep his breathing steady.

Prince Lotor’s brows climbed his forehead, his eyes wide in affected surprise. “That long?” he asked, and Keith watched Aiphos visibly shudder. It didn’t reflect well on the Lieutenant Commander that a traitor operating on her base had gone unnoticed for such a substantial length of time. He half expected her to begin groveling when she dropped again into a respectful bow.

“I beg your forgiveness for this grave lapse in vigilance, Your Highness.” Lotor stood from behind his desk.

“Mistakes happen Aiphos. The messages were sent from a public terminal, I assume?” The Lieutenant Commander straightened and nodded. She was too professional to let her shoulders slump in relief but Keith could see some of the tension drain from her posture.

“I will escort you there, if you wish to see for yourself.”

“Yes, I think I do.” Lotor stepped around his desk and Keith fell into place behind the prince as he swept out the door.

Keith hadn’t appreciated how effective the climate controls were in the officer’s quarters until he returned to the more communal areas of the station at Lotor’s heels. The heat was oppressive and sweat immediately began to bead along his hairline, his lungs briefly straining to take in the hotter, heavier air when he stepped through the thick doors separating the restricted areas from the rest. Even Aiphos appeared to wilt slightly but Keith observed, with an irrational amount of irritation, that the prince didn’t even seem to notice.

His heart was pounding when the Lieutenant Commander directed them to the off-duty soldier’s lounge where Aide Virek waited, datapad in hand.

The room itself was surprisingly comfortable for a galra military installation, wide and open. It was relatively well lit by bright purple ceiling lights and the air was at least a little cooler than the hallways leading to it, courtesy of the straining environmental control unit in the far corner. The lounge boasted several small, round tables surrounded by clusters of chairs, and a handful of couches and sofas were grouped together for more comfortable, intimate seating. A food goo processor hummed next to a drink dispenser on the opposite side of the room and a large vid-screen stretched across one wall, tuned to the Imperial News Network. Several public consoles were spaced throughout the room that soldiers could sign into for extra-curricular shopping or personal calls.

Aide Virek was standing next to the terminal Keith had last used to send his superiors an update, and Keith suddenly found it hard to breathe in a way that had nothing to do with the stifling temperature. He set his heel down more firmly than was strictly necessary when he came to a stop behind the prince, needing the familiar jostle of his knife in his boot to reassure him.

The aide saluted the prince and then Aiphos before offering Keith a short nod. The twitchy half-blood looked him over from the points of his ears to his boots and Keith’s nerves sang with tension, half-convinced they already knew he’d been the one to send the transmissions. He knew he was being ridiculous, that the Lieutenant Commander would have a blade to his heart the moment she so much as suspected his betrayal, but he couldn’t seem to relax.

He’d never experienced such a powerful surge of nerves despite his extensive history of missions (more than a few of which had gone explosively wrong), and realized with a confusing mix of dismay and tentative pleasure that this was the result of having something to lose - getting caught would cost him more than just his life.

Lotor was tapping away at the console’s interface, directing questions at Virek, who stuttered over his answers but seemed entirely confident in his report. Keith waited for any indication that the investigators had any leads on who, exactly, had been sending the messages, but other than an unnervingly accurate trail of dates and times there was nothing to point them at Keith.

A few dobashes after they arrived, their small party was joined by General Acxa.

“Acxa, see what you can find that may have been missed,” Lotor directed, barely sparing his royal guard a glance. He stepped away from the console, moving across the room to the one Keith had used first. A few swipes brought up the user log but there was no trace of Keith’s presence in the system. He exhaled silently in relief.

A commotion drew his attention to the lounge’s primary entrance, where a pair of hulking galra stood next to a narrow, motorized cart. Various chemicals and custodial tools hung off of the cart’s rails. Though the galra were both dressed in the uniforms of cleaners, Keith recognized Throzt and Lethox immediately and reached for his sword. Aiphos had already shifted subtly to place herself between the prince and the soldiers at the entrance.

The former sergeant growled low in his throat at Prince Lotor and even Lethox had apparently gotten enough of his pride back to offer the prince a fierce glare.

Lieutenant Commander Aiphos responded to the threatening behavior with a ripping snarl, her tails lashing the air, already curled around the handles of a set of knives. Keith flattened his ears over a scowl of his own but kept his weapon sheathed for the time being. General Acxa looked up from her work, pinning the pair with a razor-blade stare, but didn’t make a move towards the pistol at her hip.

For his part, the prince deliberately turned away from the doorway, returning to inspecting the console without even glancing towards the hostile custodians. Keith was grudgingly impressed. Lotor’s behavior continued to imply that the pair didn’t pose enough of a threat for him to be concerned, and his dismissal was clearly having more of an impact on the proud, pure-blooded galra than a night spent enduring Aiphos’ less-than-tender attentions had, at least in Throzt’s case.

“I believe you have duties to attend to,” Aiphos’ voice cut through the heated, tense air in its usual whip-crack fashion. Keith watched Throzt’s fists clench and wondered if the big galra would try to attack Lotor again. A moment later, he stiffly turned his back and directed his cart to the lounge’s furthest table, beginning to gather discarded trash left behind by some particularly messy soldiers. Lethox followed his lead, head down.

Lotor only stayed a few more dobashes before deciding he’d seen as much as he was interested in on the terminal. “Let me know what you find,” he ordered General Acxa before striding out the door, Keith on his heels. It was only after they’d crossed the threshold into the sanctuary of the climate-controlled officer’s area that Keith noticed the prince wiping a bead of sweat from his temple.

“I’m not sure why I decided my base had to be built on a desert planet,” Lotor mumbled under his breath, but Keith didn’t pay him much mind, wrapped up in his own thoughts..

Once they were back in the dimly lit office, with Lotor again absorbed in the readouts on his desk and nobody else around to see him, Keith let his shoulders slump in defeat. He wouldn’t be sending that report to his commanding officers any time soon.

 

XX

 

Lance’s eyes were open and searching for Keith’s before the Chamber’s mist had fully dissipated. Kneeling beside the open pod, Keith couldn’t deny the warmth that bloomed in his chest as he watched the tension immediately drain out of Lance when their gazes met, and he reached out to brush the ever-present unruly curl off of the altean’s forehead without thinking.

The slow smile he received in return and the sparks of heat that shivered up from their skin-to-skin contact had that gentle warmth increasing to a pleasant burn. Keith was grateful he’d thought to remove his gloves before deactivating the cryopod, enjoying the feel of Lance’s soft skin under his fingertips.

“It’s been two quintets,” he reported before Lance could ask, sliding an arm behind the other’s broad shoulders to help him into a seated position. “Sorry it was so long.” He’d been nearly frantic to wake Lance the evening before, but Lotor had been wrapped up in his duties and hadn’t requested the prisoner’s presence. Keith had spent the entire night wrestling with the powerful urge to sneak into Lance’s quarters and open the Chamber regardless, but the fear that Lotor would somehow know what he’d done had kept him in his own bed, frustrated and unable to sleep.

“Long?” Lance asked, groaning as he stretched his arms out. “Two quintets is nothing. I’m feeling a little spoiled with you waking me up all the time. Can’t stay away, huh?” He shot Keith a mischievous grin then reached up and tugged at the tip of one of Keith’s ears.

Keith jerked as if he’d been electrocuted, heat firing down his neck and back and setting his fur on end. Lance yanked his hand away, eyes wide.

“Quiznak, are you okay? I didn’t realize that would affect you so much!” He was rubbing his own hand and he looked so nervous and Keith really had no idea what had happened.

He folded his ears protectively to his head and managed to choke out, “No, you’re fine. Just caught me by surprise,” but he couldn’t help the shudder that wracked his frame. “Maybe we just, we should say that that’s off limits for now.”

Lance nodded, still looking a little shocked. “Got it. Yeah, no problem. Ears - off limits. Mine are pretty sensitive too.” He wiggled them to demonstrate, and Keith offered him a weak smile. He didn’t mention that his had never been particularly reactive to touch before, and resolutely didn’t let himself think about how the altean might respond if Keith were to stroke his fingers along the sharp, delicate edge of one of Lance’s pointed ears.

He had no trouble blaming Lance for all of these new, borderline inappropriate urges. Not that he would ever admit as much to Lance, the altean’s ego was over inflated as it was.

Deciding an immediate change in topic was in order, Keith gripped Lance’s elbow and helped him to his feet. “Lotor wants to attend another gladiator event in the coliseum,” he explained as Lance straightened to his full height. Had he always been so tall? Keith had to tip his head just slightly back to meet his eyes.

“After the royal quiznakfest that last time turned into? Bold move,” Lance observed, bowing his back until his spine cracked.

Keith deliberately didn’t let his eyes travel the long, curving line of the other’s body. Instead, he directed the altean to the unused bed and the clothing laid out upon it. Lance made a face but moved obediently across the room, already stripping off the few articles of silvery jewelry he had put on under Acxa’s supervision a few quintets ago. He seemed to take a childish glee in chunking the intricate pieces to bounce off the far wall and Keith couldn’t help but grin at his antics.

The outfit Lotor had selected followed the same trend as the previous ones in that it left Lance’s arms and much of his belly on display. The largest difference was the glaring lack of ornaments - where before Lance had looked like a walking jewelry store advert, there wasn’t even a single ring waiting to encircle his fingers.

Keith was relieved, he hadn’t been eager to see Lance forced to pierce parts of his body again, but Lance looked nonplussed.

“I’m already regretting having to ask,” Keith started, ears flicking uncertainly, “but what’s with the outfits? I mean, besides the obvious fact that you’re being dressed up like a particularly showy doll, that is. Which is enough of a reason to be upset about them! I mean, I’m…” he trailed off, wincing. It might have been better if he’d just put his entire foot in his mouth. Lance, however, just laughed at him.

“Ignoring Lotor’s awful idea of fashion,” he tossed a silver ring across the room with a little more force than the ones before it, “he’s intentionally picking clothes to make me feel uncomfortable like the huge, culturally insensitive quiznak that he is.”

Keith frowned, not entirely understanding but not liking the implications. He’d known that the clothing choices were deliberate, some kind of power play on Lotor’s part, but he’d been hoping it had been a generalized message of ‘I control you and can make you dress how I want’ rather than a more personal attack.

Lance dragged his fingers over a swirl of bright aqua curling across the dark skin of one bared wrist. “It’s because of these markings. They’re called life-lines. Every altean has them, and they’re unique to each individual.” He was silent for a moment, eyes distant in a way that Keith was coming to recognize meant Lance was seeing people and events that were long dead and gone. Keith reached for his hand, lacing their uncovered fingers together with deliberate care, and Lance blinked back into the present time. “The eye crescents are - were - pretty universal though,” he continued, smiling as if Keith couldn’t see him flinch when he had to correct himself to the past tense when talking about his people.

“So clothes that show the markings are rude?” Keith asked, looking for clarification. Lance shook his head, eyebrows drawing together while he considered his explanation.

“Not so much rude for the people seeing them but definitely uncomfortable for the ones wearing them. The marks are considered intimate, and physically they’re a lot more sensitive than the rest of my skin. Traditionally, the patterns were kind of a secret, meant to be shared with a life partner. Before I woke up in Zarkon’s tender care, my life-lines had only been seen by my parents and medical professionals.”

Keith felt a little sick, the familiar anger burning away in his heart. It was one more thing that Lotor and his family had stolen from Lance: the option to choose who he shared that part of himself with. Something intimate and special, something almost sacred, dragged out and flaunted against his will after a lifetime of reserving the markings for someone worthy of seeing them.

Keith felt dirty, knowing that he could recognize every arch and dip of those vivid blue lines; like he’d taken something precious from Lance that he couldn’t give back. It didn’t matter to him that he hadn’t known their significance, guilt burned like acid on the back of his tongue.

Lance’s eyes tracked Keith’s ears as they flattened into his hair. His frown deepened as if he were trying to get a read on Keith’s mood, and then he blinked and shook his head. “Hey, there’s no need to look like that. It’s not that big a deal. You’ve got to admit I look pretty quiznaking good.”

“It is a big deal, Lance!” Keith growled, squeezing the hand in his. “It’s not even necessary! Lotor’s literally doing this just to be a, uh, what's the word. Quiznak, is that it?” He flipped his ears back and frowned, momentarily sidetracked. “What does that even mean?”

Lance grinned. “It’s not complimentary,” he said, and Keith snorted.

“I’m shocked. But really, Lance. It’s not okay, and you don’t have to pretend like it is. Like any of this is.”

Lance sighed, and brought Keith’s hand to his mouth to brush his lips along his knuckles. Keith shivered at the sensation. “You’re right,” he said, dropping their hands again. “It’s not okay, and he’ll pay for it one day. They all will. One day I’ll be back in Blue’s pilot seat and getting ready to form Voltron with a new set of Paladins and we’ll finally give Zarkon the ass kicking he deserves.

“I won’t forgive what Lotor’s doing to me, but I won’t let it destroy me either. I’ll still get to show off my life-lines to my lifetime partner, and it will still be special and everything I’ve ever imagined.” He offered Keith a small, coy smile. “Even if that person isn’t anyone I could have daydreamed up in the juniberry fields.”

Keith’s cheeks filled with heat almost immediately and he had to work his throat a few times before he could get his suddenly dry mouth to form words. His heart felt swollen and hopeful in his chest.

“That’s uh. That’s great Lance. It’s really brave of you.” Lance grinned slyly and released Keith’s hand.

“For the time being, it’s time to dress up.” Keith flushed and spun around the moment Lance’s long fingers curled around the edge of his dark shirt, the altean’s laughter ringing in his ears.

Without the mess of jewelry to decipher, it was only a dobash before Lance gave Keith the all clear to turn back to face him. Now that Keith knew what to look for, the outfit made his blood boil. The silver material of the short shirt and the dark fabric of his pants set off the brilliant color of Lance’s blue life-lines and the clothing was obviously intentionally cut to showcase the marks. A large section over his chest had been left open, revealing a broad diamond of bare skin where the lines coiled together, and a hand’s-width of his belly was exposed above his low pants to offer teasing glimpses of the twin curls of aqua there.

“Counter idea,” Keith offered weakly. “You wear the gaudy blue and orange armor and I wear the clothes.” Lance laughed, but Keith wasn’t kidding, not really. After a long moment where Keith didn’t crack a smile, the altean sobered.

“I appreciate the gesture,” he said, voice soft and warm, “but I think Lotor might have some questions about that that we’re not ready to answer.” Keith sighed, resigned, and nodded.

“Besides,” Lance said, his tone suddenly brighter. “There’s no way these babies would fit on your short legs.” He bent at the waist and fished around beside the bed on the side opposite Keith. Keith frowned, craning to see what he was looking for, but before he could make out anything Lance let out a quiet sound of triumph and straightened, brandishing a familiar pair of black boots.

“No,” Keith said. “No way.”

Lance’s grin could accurately be described as wicked. “I don’t make the rules, Keith. These are the boots Prince Purple Ears provided.”

“Didn’t we agree you’d suggest cutting off your feet instead? I really feel like that’s the better alternative here.” Lance tossed the offending shoes at Keith and dropped down to perch on the edge of the bed. He lifted an eyebrow, still sporting that evil smile, and slowly and deliberately raised one long leg, his eyes on Keith’s the entire time.

“They’re not gonna put themselves on, Keith,” he purred.

“No,” Keith agreed, cheeks burning in spite of himself, “They won’t. You’ll put them on.” He shoved the heavy leather boots at Lance’s chest, carefully not looking at Lance’s extended leg, and Lance scowled.

“Do you really think I would have had Zethrid help me put these things on if I was capable of doing it by myself?” he demanded.

Keith grinned at him, showing off the points of his sharp teeth. “If it irritated her enough? You bet I do.” Lance threw back his head and laughed, dropping his foot to the floor. The joyous sound made Keith’s heart trip over itself.

“You’re not wrong about that,” Lance conceded, and set one of the shoes next to him as he started straightening the length of the other. “But I really will need some help. I can’t believe Lotor thought these were a good idea. Seems pretty short sighted for a master strategist.”

Keith agreed but kept silent, watching Lance struggle with the length of leather. Finally, he sighed and knelt before the altean. “If I don’t help you we’ll miss the entire event,” he grumbled, and Lance chuckled.

“That would be just a terrible loss, wouldn’t it?”

 

XX

 

In the end, it took the pair nearly as long to get the cursed boots on as it had to remove them in the first place. By the time Keith was typing his officer’s code into the access panel for Lotor’s private coliseum booth the matches had been going for over half a varga.

Prince Lotor raised his eyebrows at their entrance, taking in the sweat shining on Lance’s skin and the way Keith was nearly panting for air. “Did our guest give you trouble?” he asked Keith in a polite, disinterested voice, but Keith didn’t miss the way his sharp eyes flicked between the two of them.

Lance didn’t give Keith the chance to answer, strutting past him and Zethrid (whose face had morphed into the scowl she seemed to reserve solely for the altean) to sprawl, indolent, across the long couch as if it were him who was the prince and not Lotor. Lotor watched his graceful movements with an expression of faint amusement.

“The only trouble here, Your Royal Berry-Addict, is caused by these shoes. Were you thinking with your brain when you selected them?” Keith swallowed an exasperated groan as the altean kicked his feet up onto the seat and crossed his ankles, tapping his toes together.

Lotor’s eyes dragged up the length of Lance’s legs with a deliberate slowness that sparked an answering anger in Keith, but the prince’s eyebrows were once again climbing to his hairline.

“No fastenings,” he said mildly. “What poor planning.” Lance snorted, but flashed Keith a tiny smile when the prince turned his attention back to the vidscreen at a particularly loud roar from the crowd. Keith didn’t return the gesture, hyper aware of Zethrid beside him as he took up a position behind Lotor, though he needn’t have worried.

The big general cheered as she watched a massive axe-wielding gladiator cleave a quivering green-skinned alien in two. “I like that one,” she informed Lotor. “He’s not on the level of Grand Champion Myzax but his skill and bloodthirst are admirable.”

“I’d heard Myzax was defeated several phoebs ago by a new challenger.” The prince chuckled and took a long draw from his wine goblet as Zethrid scoffed her disapproval.

“Regardless, he’d serve as an adequate and inspiring champion for your arena. A worthy opponent.”

Lotor hummed thoughtfully, glittering eyes fixed on the gladiator as the sentry bots stepped forward to restrain him. Lance snorted inelegantly, evidently not in the mood to sit quietly and observe as he had during the previous event.

“You’re seriously thinking about calling him a Champion? Kind of an embarrassing choice, don’t you think?” Zethrid growled but Lance waved his hand at her. It didn’t so much silence her as startle her into inaction, but he was speaking again before she could recover. “I could take him in this ridiculous get-up with nothing but a pistol,” he said confidently, and Keith had never seen Lance fight, but he wasn’t so confident. The impractical boots would restrict his movement and in such a small arena a ranged weapon wasn’t going to do the altean much good. Keith had watched that same gladiator butcher a dozen competent fighters in his time on Xorekar Station and he was far faster than he appeared.

But the prince was laughing, sounding genuinely amused. “Of course you could, Lance. But I am not a fool. It has been several millennia but do you really think I could ever forget watching you dominating shooting competitions when I was a child? The moment you get a gun in your hands, I’ll be dead, Blue Paladin, and I’m not quite ready to go yet.”

Keith was startled, re-assessing Lance with a warrior’s eye. He remembered him mentioning being an incredible shot - the best in the universe - but he’d already figured out that the altean was prone to boasting. Could his evaluation of his own skill have been genuine?

Lance’s smile was all teeth, a predator barely bothering to disguise his true nature. “From all the way down there, and with a barrier to protect you? I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

“No,” Lotor said simply, “I’m not.”

Lance dropped the playful facade all at once, his features settling into a deadly serious expression. He was still stretched across the couch but there was no longer any trace of the previous languor in his splayed limbs. In the space of an instant, he’d seemingly transformed from a docile prisoner into someone truly dangerous. “Good,” he said evenly. “And I suggest you never forget what I’m capable of, Lotor, because I’ve got you in my sights and I won’t be patient forever.”

“You _dare_?” Zethrid snarled suddenly, reaching across the back of the couch to slash at Lance with bared claws, and Keith had his sword half out of his sheath before Lotor held up his hand and paused all movement. Keith could only hope the two other half-blood galra had mistaken his gesture as a response to Lance’s threat and not recognized his serious intention to remove Zethrid’s arm from her body.

“Zethrid, now that Keith’s here to act as bodyguard, I believe you have several tasks to complete,” Lotor stated calmly. “You let dear Lance rile you far too easily. In his current state he’s as good as helpless, as you well know. And as I said, I have no intention of dying just yet.”

The general straightened and growled, a low rumbling sound from her chest that was directed at a smirking Lance, but after a long moment she straightened and stormed from the room, her fury practically crackling in the air around her.

Lance hadn’t moved from his position on the sofa, slumped against the armrest with his legs stretched out before him, utterly relaxed once more. He hadn’t even flinched when Zethrid had reached for him with deadly intent. Lotor blew out a long-suffering sigh.

“You really shouldn’t taunt her, Lance,” he chastised him, taking a deep drink of his starberry wine. Lance shrugged one broad shoulder.

“You weren’t going to let her kill me,” he said matter-of-factly. Lotor raised a brow and Keith had to viciously repress the now-familiar urge to grab Lance’s shoulders and try to shake some sense into him.

“Oh?”

Lance’s predatory grin was back. “Sure. I know things you don’t know and you won’t allow me to be killed until you have what you want.”

Lotor leaned back in his seat and smiled at the altean. “You’re right,” he agreed easily. “You’ll remain here until you’ve served my purposes.”

Lance looked smug but the fur on Keith’s back was standing on end, ice dripping down his spine. Not for the first time, something about Lotor’s phrasing was setting off alarms in his head. It was a clear reminder that Lotor’s motivations were a mystery, and he resolved to be more alert than ever for any signs that the prince intended to cause Lance harm.

 

XX

 

“You really shouldn’t jump to my defense every time,” Lance told Keith once they were alone again in his suite. “One of these times they’re not going to write it off as your being extra-zealous about Lotor’s honor or whatever. Zethrid can pull it off, but you, not so much.”

Keith scowled. “Then maybe you shouldn’t bait everyone you come across into trying to attack you.”

Lance shrugged, unconcerned. “I knew Lotor wouldn’t let her harm me. It’s one thing to steal Zarkon’s only source of information on Voltron, but if he were to lose it…” he trailed off, letting Keith fill in the blanks as he dropped himself back on the bed.

Keith scowled, prepared to lay into the altean about stupid risks (and ignore the irony of his being the one to deliver that lecture to anyone), but a good look at Lance’s face stalled him. He looked exhausted, as if every ounce of energy he’d possessed had gone into walking and talking and acting normal and now that he didn’t have to act for anyone there was hardly enough of him left to lie there on the bed.

“Lance?” Keith asked instead of shouting, tone gentle. It occurred to him for the first time to wonder if cryostasis could be considered sleep. Keith recognized the expression on Lance’s face as one he’d worn himself after several quintets on a high-stress, high-risk mission with no time to rest. The altean raised a hand to wave him off, but the gesture was weak and sloppy.

“I’ll get in the pod in a minute,” he offered, and Keith could hear the slur to his words now. Lance didn’t need a pod, he needed a good night’s sleep. Maybe a few quintets worth. It wasn’t an option but -

“Can Lotor tell when the Chamber is activated?” he asked, seating himself next to Lance on the bed. The bedding was soft and fine, identical to the furnishings in his own suite.

“No,” Lance said, opening his eyes and seeking out Keith’s own. “If anyone was going to be alerted to when it’s turned on and off it would be Haggar, but she’s not really in a position to do anything with the information.” Keith nodded.

“Then you’ll get some sleep,” he declared, stretching out across the bed to lean against the headboard. “Just a few varga,” he said when Lance opened his mouth to protest. “I’ll keep watch and if anyone starts to head this way I’ll stuff you into the Chamber, but you clearly need to rest.”

If Lance were inclined to argue, it was obvious he lacked the energy. “Okay,” he sighed, eyes slipping closed again. Keith was momentarily distracted by the sweep of his dark lashes curling against his cheeks. “Like five dobashes. But if you have to toss me back in, do it. We can’t risk getting caught.”

“I promise,” Keith swore quietly. “I won’t let anyone take you away. Nobody will see you out of the Chamber.”

Lance was out like a light before he finished speaking and Keith settled himself more comfortably against the headboard, tugging the bed’s silky blanket over Lance’s slumped form. He set an alarm on the bedside console and let his own eyes slide closed, falling into the trance-like half-aware state he’d been trained to rely on. Any sounds outside would bring him back to wakefulness, but he knew he needed rest himself.

The quiet, steady sounds of his breathing mingled with Lance’s in the otherwise silent room and Keith felt more at peace than he had in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may have noticed that I changed this fic from 6 to 7 chapters. I was about six thousand words into what was supposed to be the final chapter and hadn't even begun to build up the real climax and I was like oh okay looks like we're going a little further.
> 
> Sorry, but we'll have to wait a tiny bit longer for the resolution of the story :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, plot, and Lotor being a prick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after season 5 a lot of the worldbuilding I've done this story is now...invalid, dangit. Oh well. We'll press on like it hasn't ever happened. The story is mostly finished anyway.
> 
> Huge thanks to my friends for bearing with me on this chapter. I picked at it and angsted over it for a month because it wasn't quite right, and then on Monday in some kind of fit of anxiety attack meets mental breakdown I deleted the WHOLE THING. So this is the rewrite which I'm way more happy with but it would never have happened without their patience and support. (How they didn't end my life is a mystery.)
> 
> For Brittany and Caitlin, for whom I would commit any number of crimes, no questions asked.

Keith made his way through Xorekar Station’s officer’s quarters with his head held high, his steps confident and unhurried. He was wearing the armor of an officer of Lotor’s army and served as the prince’s personal bodyguard; he had every right to walk the halls unescorted.  
  
Or, he tried to project as much, anyway. The most critical component of a successful infiltration was appearing to belong and while acting had never been his strong suit, “confident” and “ill-tempered” came to him naturally enough and none of the officers or guard patrols he passed stopped him on his way to the armory.  
  
His luck continued to hold when he reached the weapon’s locker: the door to the restricted room opened with a hiss as he approached, one of the patrol captains striding out of the room without sparing him a glance. Keith’s clearance allowed him access to the entire base but the illicit nature of his current task meant the less his presence was logged in the systems the better.  
  
The officer’s armory was far smaller than the three that serviced the rest of the soldiers on the station but it offered a much wider variety of weaponry. Keith moved towards the registration station at the far side of the long room, eyeing the exotic looking swords and customized guns as he walked through the dimly lit area. Every armament in the room corresponded to one of Xorekar Station’s ranked officers, each personalized to suit that galra’s particular combat style and needs. The weapons lacked the programmed kill-switches installed in the pistols and rifles that were assigned to the rank-and-file soldiers and were thus kept under tighter restrictions, including genetic-coded access panels and a living clerk manning the checkout desk, rather than an automated terminal.

  
Keith had been counting on the clerk to present the biggest obstacle to reaching his target but when he stepped up to the pale pink barrier that shielded the weapons-keeper’s desk from any would-be attackers, he almost slumped in relief. If he believed in a higher power he would think one was at work, easing his way with open doors and conveniently timed work rosters. The soldier seated behind the glowing red desk was the only person on the station that Keith could, maybe consider a friend.

The only one besides Lance, at least. It had been just over a phoeb since the first night he’d kept Lance out of the Chamber without Lotor’s consent; the following morning, Lotor had given no indication that he was aware Lance had spent several varga sleeping in a bed instead of on ice. Keith had made it a point to wake Lance every quintet after, staying up late into the nights getting to know the altean he felt such a connection with. Everything about Lance - his brash nature and his genuine kindness, his bravery and the parts of him still open and weeping with loss - drew Keith in. The more he learned about Lance the more certain Keith became that he would never get enough of him.

Lance had made it clear with his words and his actions that he felt the same inexorable pull, the sense that they belonged together.  
  
Keith’s heart fluttered in his chest and he shoved those thoughts aside as the clerk finished logging data into the touch-screen surface of his desk and leaned back in his seat.  
  
“Well look at you!” the half-blood galra rumbled in his low, strangely melodic voice. He crossed bulging arms behind his heavy head, golden eyes fixed on Keith and lips pulled up into a smile, exposing teeth like rounded boulders.  
  
“Haz,” Keith greeted him. Haz was a hulking, alarmingly strong hybrid with natural ridged armor that grew over his chest and down his back. He was the son of a galra officer and a native woman from a long dead balmera and had served on Xorekar Station for a handful of years before Keith had arrived.

For reasons Keith had never fully understood, Haz had taken an instant liking to him and had refused to let Keith’s prickly personality and obvious desire to be alone deter his attempts to befriend him. He claimed his armor protected him from Keith’s sword-sharp tongue and that if Keith really wanted to get rid of him he’d have to learn some new insults, because Haz had heard them all. Keith had been torn between being unnerved by the half-balmeran’s insistence and tentatively pleased that someone seemed genuinely interested in knowing him and had grudgingly agreed to spend several of his off-duty varga with the laid back giant before he’d been reassigned to Lotor’s protection.  
  
“Moving up in the world, hm Hothead?” Haz asked. He scratched at his leathery scalp with thick fingers. “You’re here on business for the prince?”  
  
Keith cleared his throat and nodded. He’d planned an entire speil to convince the weapon’s clerk to grant him access to the evidence lockup but with Haz manning the desk it wouldn’t be necessary.  
  
“I’d like another look at the rebel’s knife,” he said instead  
  
Haz’s smile widened into a grin. “You and pointy objects,” he chuckled. “I’ll never figure it out.” His chair groaned as he sat forward to begin tapping at his desktop again. Keith knew from a handful of sparring matches gone wrong that Haz was somehow even heavier than he looked, and he felt a twinge of sympathy for the overtaxed furniture. “No need to sign in, I’ll take care of it. Don’t leave without stopping to chat, I’ve gotten bored without your fiery temper. None of the other soft-skins around here have any backbone.”  
  
Keith offered his sort-of friend a real smile as a panel on the wall to his left beeped and the reinforced door to the restricted evidence room slid away with a hiss.  
  
“I’ll try not to forget,” he called over his shoulder as he turned on his heel and entered the dark room. Haz’s laughter followed him as the door snicked shut with a gust of chill air.  
  
Shockingly bright lights flickered into life, momentarily blinding Keith, and he covered his sensitive eyes with a grunt. He waited several ticks for the discomfort to recede, ears twitching in the almost oppressive silence of the lockup, the air around him settling into perfect, eerie stillness. The hair raised along his spine and he was quick to remove his hand, blinking his watering eyes as they finished adjusting. The small room felt disconcertingly like a crypt.  
  
The evidence lockup was rectangular in shape and roughly the size of the bedroom in his suite. The short wall opposite the entrance was taken up by several blank vid-screens for viewing information, reports, and recordings; the two longer walls on either side were covered floor to ceiling by gray metal lockers of varying sizes and a tall steel table filled the center of the room.  
  
Keith drew in a fortifying breath and, with a last glance at the door to double-check it was sealed behind him, circled the table to access one of the information screens. He flipped hurriedly through the database of stored items, bypassing genetic samples and articles of clothing until he reached weaponry. The registry was fairly short; there wasn’t much call for investigating crimes on the base and Keith knew from experience that most altercations tended to involve claws and bare fists.  
  
He found the assassin’s knife’s ID number and storage locker information easily enough but continued scrolling the available items for several ticks before exiting the database. He hadn’t been required to sign into the program but it never hurt to cover his tracks. If he were discovered he wouldn’t have any reasonable explanation for his actions and would likely be tortured and executed for being a rebel traitor.  
  
In all fairness that’s exactly what he was, but in this case he was not the rebel they were looking for.  
  
Keith moved across the small room, scanning locker numbers. It took several dobashes to find the one he needed. It was longer than it was tall, positioned at the height of his shoulders, and when he slid the cold metal front panel aside, the familiar knife was the only item contained within. He took the weapon from the locker and carried it over to the center of the room, placing it on the table’s surface and eyeing it critically.  
  
The knife was just as he remembered it from the coliseum: a common model, unremarkable but for the impressive edge it had been sharpened to. He flipped it, examining it thoroughly, but as before he could discern nothing altered in its appearance, materials, or weight.  
  
With another glance at the door, Keith reached into the small compartment built into his armor’s belt and extracted the short length of chameleon cloth he’d taken from the assassin’s body. He’d soldered the torn edges together so they no longer sparked and had tested the material extensively. No matter what items he wrapped in the fabric, it always adjusted itself to mimic them, revealing whatever he attempted to conceal beneath it. He’d been certain the cloth had been used to hide the assassin’s blade that night in Lotor’s booth and had concluded that it had to be coded to that specific weapon somehow.  
  
Keith had debated the wisdom of stealing the dead assassin’s knife from the officer’s armory for several movements before he’d made his move. When combined with the chameleon cloth he’d secreted away in his possession, the blade was ideal for Lance. He would be able to conceal it regardless of what Lotor dressed him in and if someone other than Keith were to wake him they wouldn’t find the knife on Lance’s person unless they knew what to look for.  
  
Keith had ensured that no one would know what to look for when he’d hidden the disguising fabric from the others that night in Lotor’s viewing booth. The opportunity to arm Lance was too good to pass up, despite the risks; knowing that Lance could protect himself when Keith wasn’t present would help to set his mind at ease.  
  
Carefully, he draped the fabric over the knife and blew out a relieved exhale when the cloth took on the appearance of brushed steel, interrupted only by the pale gray edges of the repaired tear. His hunch had been right - the knife was entirely concealed. Keith wrapped the fingers of his right hand around where he knew the blade’s handle to be, ignoring the slight hint of vertigo when his fingers appeared to sink into steel that rippled like cloth, and lifted it, folding the concealing fabric until it covered the entire weapon.  
  
Keith whistled quietly, impressed: his fingers looked to be curled around air. The tiny stretch of fabric was likely worth enough GAC to buy him a small moon and he wondered again which organization had access to such advanced tech.  
  
The knife concealed in his right hand, he fished into the top of his left boot and produced a nearly identical weapon. It was the same style and model of the assassin’s, painstakingly sharpened to hold the same incredible edge. It had been fairly simple to procure, a common enough purchase by off-duty soldiers that it hadn’t raised any flags when he’d ordered it with the ID he’d nabbed from a half-blood in his old unit. If it was somehow discovered and traced back, Keith wouldn’t feel too bad for letting the soldier take the fall; the guy was an asshole of the highest order.  
  
He gave the replacement blade one more intense inspection but could discern no discrepancies between his faked knife and the real thing. Steeling himself, he put the new knife in the evidence locker and sealed it again, tucking the hidden assassin’s weapon into his boot next to his own blade. He was taking a huge risk and if the swap were discovered he would have a hard time explaining his unauthorized presence in the lockup no matter what Haz reported.

  
There was no turning back now, regardless. He was already committed and second thoughts and doubts would only cause him to stumble. Resolved, he turned and marched from the locker, stopping by the clerk’s desk to chat with his almost-friend.

 

XX

 

Clouds of purple mist billowed, soundless, from the open mouth of the Chamber. The vapor brushed across Keith’s unprotected face, cold and dark as death, obscuring his view of Lance for the span of a heartbeat before dissolving into nothing.

The glow faded from Lance’s life-lines as the Chamber’s hold on him lessened and, urged on by instinct and a desire to reassure Lance that it was him who had woken him from cryo, Keith reached forward to cup one smooth, naked cheek in his hand. When he stroked his thumb over the sickle of blue curving under Lance’s eye the luminessence flared back to life, the marks glittering like starlight across the dark expanse of his body.

Beneath Keith’s hand Lance’s chilled skin warmed rapidly, small sparks of heat crackling across Keith’s palm from the contact. Lance’s eyes were soft as they met Keith’s and his lips curled into a sweet, contented smile, the corner of his mouth hitching up to tuck under the curve of Keith’s thumb.

Keith blushed and pulled his hand away, flattening his ears and glaring at Lance when the altean chuckled at him. He moved his hand down to Lance’s shoulder, helping him sit up; Lance was exceptionally weak the first few dobashes after waking, his strength and coordination slow to return. Keith hated it, hated seeing Lance rendered frail and helpless when he was anything but.

Lance rubbed sleepily at his eyes once he was seated. It spoke of the trust he and Keith had built between them that he no longer immediately searched the room for threats; instead, his smile stretched into a full blown grin as he took Keith in. “Keith!” he crowed. “I missed you.”

Keith snorted and sat back on his heels to give Lance some room to stretch the stiffness out of his arms, his eyes tracking the play of muscle under Lance’s brown skin without his conscious decision to do so. “It was no more than a blink for you,” he mumbled, unimpressed with Lance’s dramatics.

“A blink too long,” Lance told him playfully, but when Keith met his eyes again there was something soft and sincere in them. Keith had learned how Lance tried to disguise his vulnerability with humor and recognized the signs; he tucked the eternally unruly curl across Lance’s forehead behind his pointed ear with gentle fingers, heart feeling full and warm.

“If I missed you so much in only a tick,” Lance continued in that same teasing tone, “I can’t imagine how much you must have suffered the entire quintet. It must have been terrible.”

Keith reached down into the pod, his hands finding holds on either side of Lance’s lean waist, and stood, bringing the altean with him. Lance’s knees threatened to give out for a split-tick but held, his hands braced against Keith’s chest.

“I longed for you every tick,” Keith said seriously.

It was fortunate that he still had a firm grip on Lance because the moment Keith’s words registered he lost whatever control he had over his weakened legs and they buckled. The expression of pure surprise - wide eyes and a gaping mouth, his eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline - on Lance’s handsome face negated any embarrassment Keith might have felt over his confession.

Lance caught himself on Keith’s arms and adjusted his stance, letting his legs take his weight again. His face twisted from shocked to indignant. “You can’t just say things like that without any warning, Keith! My heart can’t handle it!”

Keith chuckled. “I think your heart will be fine.” Reluctantly, he peeled his hands from Lance’s sides, immediately missing the warmth the contact generated. He stepped back from the altean, bending to retrieve the neatly folded shirt waiting there and passing it to Lance.

He had gotten into the habit of bringing one of his own shirts over for Lance to wear in the privacy of the Chamber’s suite once he’d learned the cultural significance of an altean’s life-lines. Lance was slightly taller and broader than Keith was and the fabric, already tight, stretched almost indecently over his chest but the shirt covered him to his hips and wrists, keeping the blue markings in his skin hidden safely from view.

Keith couldn’t give back his knowledge of the intimate patterns he hadn’t known were secret but Lance had made it clear he didn’t hold it against him. He was obviously comforted by the shirt and the ability to cover himself, helping to ease Keith's guilt over his unintentional faux pas.

Lance pulled the garment over both his head and the sad excuse for a shirt Lotor had put him in most recently, grinning at Keith once he was covered. His hair stuck up in every direction from the static cling and Keith swallowed and flushed again, not yet fully immune to the sight of Lance in his clothing and chastising himself for being so affected.

“So it’s your turn to start the night with a story,” Lance informed him, stepping around the Chamber to tug the blankets off of the bed, his strength fully returned to him. He carried his armload of repurposed bedding to the low couch across the room and dumped it on one end, dropping into the pile he’d created. Lance had no tolerance for even the faintest hint of a chill and had grown fond of curling into a nest of blankets with Keith, their bodies fitted together and the air between them warm and comfortable. He motioned for Keith to join him. “I want to hear the one you touched on the other day, with the raging Xorlax and the blind dude that was convinced you were his son.” He smirked and tugged a corner of the blankets over himself, waiting for Keith.

“That was an accident,” Keith said defensively. They’d been trading stories with one another, Lance’s mostly about things he’d seen and done and fought as a Paladin of Voltron and Keith’s almost exclusively recountings of past missions. The names and specifics of who Keith was fighting for and against were carefully omitted but Lance didn’t seem to mind.

Keith took two steps towards Lance, eager to join him, but hesitated. He had almost forgotten that he’d made other plans for the night. “Actually,” he said, turning back to the Chamber, “I have something to give you.” He knelt beside the cryopod again and carefully reached out, cautiously sliding his fingers along the plated steel floor next to the pod, searching.

“A present?” Lance asked excitedly from behind him. He heard the altean stand from the sofa, his footsteps padding near-silently across the room towards him. Keith’s fingers brushed thin fabric and he peeled the chameleon cloth aside to reveal the hidden handle of the assassin’s knife. Keith picked up the blade with its cloth and straightened, turning to face Lance as he came to a stop in front of Keith.

Keith was struck, suddenly and inexplicably, by a powerful wash of nerves. His heart kicked into a gallop and his mouth went dry, refusing to form words. Lance was smiling at him, curious and excited and his eyes were so very, very blue, bright in the dimly-lit room. Keith’s mind blanked and the knife burned in his grip as if he’d pulled it from a roaring fire and not a cool metal floor.

Lance raked his eyes over Keith, his teeth sinking into his lip and a little furrow appearing between his thin brows. “Are you okay?” he asked, now sounding more concerned than excited.

Stealing the knife had been a massive risk, but Keith had suspected as soon as he’d heard the altean’s story that there probably wasn’t much he wouldn’t do if Lance needed it. Now that Keith had spent a phoeb getting to know him, growing closer to him than he had ever been with anyone, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for Lance.

So why, in the name of all the stars in the universe, was Keith finding it so damned hard to give him the quiznaking weapon?

Ears flat to his head in frustration and growing increasingly mortified as words continued to elude him, Keith thrust his hand towards Lance, offering him the knife. Lance’s brows drew down further and his teeth released his lower lip to frown. “Uh, buddy? Are you feeling alright?”

  
Keith blinked and followed the line of Lance’s sight down to his own fist. His fingers were curled around the handle of the stolen knife but the blade itself was still disguised by the cloth, utterly invisible. Keith’s face filled with heat and it took everything he had not to groan out loud. He pinched the trailing end of the chameleon fabric between the fingers of his free hand and tugged it away with a flick of his wrist, exposing the entirety of the weapon hidden beneath.

Lance went very still, his eyes fixed on the length of the knife’s blade, gleaming dully in the purple light of the room. Keith waited for him to speak or take the weapon or give him some kind of response, heart pounding, but Lance didn’t move.

Overcome by anxiety and afraid he’d somehow misstepped, Keith hurried to explain. “It’s the knife from that assassin in the coliseum - the big one. I found this cloth on the body,” he waved the scrap around though, of course, Lance couldn’t see it. “It changes to match whatever is under it but somehow it doesn’t show this specific knife so I thought it would be perfect for you to have.” Keith flinched, aware that he was rambling, his words running together.

It was enough to get a reaction out of Lance, at least. He didn’t even glance at Keith’s waving hand but his gaze finally left the blade Keith was offering to meet his eyes. Keith was startled by the depth of emotion on Lance’s face, his expression a mixture of awed and solemn that Keith had never seen before and certainly had never had directed at him.

Lance licked his lips. “You’re giving me a weapon?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “Are you sure about this?”

Keith frowned but nodded. He’d imagined a dozen responses from Lance but this strange, quiet questioning had not been one of them. “So you can protect yourself,” he clarified. “You’ll be able to keep it with you always.”

Eyes still locked with Keith’s, the moment far more intense than Keith could have ever prepared for, Lance reached for the weapon and Keith flipped his hand over and uncurled his fist, offering him the handle. Lance’s fingers brushed Keith’s open palm as he accepted the gift, the gesture reminiscent of that night in the coliseum when it had been Lance offering the weapon to Keith, the contact again sparking flames that licked up Keith’s arm.

“I’ll use it to protect us both,” Lance said, his voice low and firm, shaping the words into a promise in a way that teased at some buried thought at the back of Keith’s mind.

Before he could think too much about it Lance was hefting the knife, testing its weight and balance. He hadn’t been sure how well Lance could handle a blade but his movements were practiced and comfortable enough to put Keith’s mind at ease.

“Thank you,” Lance said, his tone a little lighter. “You have no idea how good it feels to be armed again.” He spun the weapon with a flourish, the metal flashing.

“I don’t like to be without a weapon either,” Keith replied. “Too bad our rebel assassin didn’t use a gun.” Lance laughed, moving the knife between his hands, trying to get a feel for the unfamiliar blade.

“If only. Don’t worry though, I’m no master swordsman like you are but I can hold my own. Worst case scenario, I can throw it - my killer aim isn’t limited to firearms.”

Lance was smiling, wider and with more genuine joy than Keith would have ever thought someone in his situation would be capable of. That he had been the one to make Lance so happy felt like Keith’s greatest accomplishment. His throat was tight with emotion and his blood seemed to sing in his veins and he stepped closer to Lance, drawn into his orbit by the brilliance of that smile and the ceaseless tugging at the center of Keith’s chest.

Lance’s expression softened, no less radiant but sweeter, more gentle, and he reached past Keith to set his new knife on the rim of the Chamber. His fingers found Keith’s elbow, skimming down the length of his forearm to his fist, still curled into the folds of the chameleon cloth. Sparks of heat fizzled along his hand as Lance’s searching fingers followed it down to the invisible cloth and Keith loosened his hold on the fabric when Lance tugged at it.

Lance smiled warmly at him and draped the chameleon cloth over the cryopod’s edge beside the knife, then straightened and, slowly and deliberately, bent his head towards Keith. Keith’s ears perked forward and his heart stumbled before kicking into a wild tempo, hammering against his chest. He couldn’t look away from Lance’s dazzlingly blue eyes, didn’t want to look away from them, as Lance moved the slightest fraction closer, his breath washing warm and electric over Keith’s cheeks.

“Can I kiss you?” Lance asked, voice a little rough, achingly earnest. Keith was closing the distance between them before he finished speaking.

Kissing Lance was a nuclear fusion, the birth of a star. Light and heat crackled from Keith’s lips and up his spine and warmth slid down his back, slow and sweet, to pool, syrupy, in his belly and drip into his limbs. He cupped Lance’s face in both of his hands, the contact searing, felt Lance’s hands wrap around his hips to draw him closer. His heart swelled in his chest, bruising against his ribs, Lance spilling into all the cracked and fragmented pieces of him so that Keith was left hot and whole and shining, bright and brilliant and new.

Lungs aching for air, Keith pulled away just far enough to suck in a greedy breath. He let his hands drop to Lance’s shoulders and Lance pressed his forehead to Keith’s, just as unwilling to put any distance between them as Keith was. Their noses brushed against one another as their breathing slowly began to even out, the space between them warm and sparkling in the wake of their kiss.

Keith was gratified to see that Lance looked as wrecked as he felt. A dark flush spread under the altean’s brown skin and the crescents on his cheekbones were glowing; cool blue light shined through the material of Keith’s borrowed shirt in familiar, swirling patterns. Even Lance’s eyes seemed lit from within and, as close as he was, Keith noticed the pink gleaming at their centers for the first time, delicate and unusual.

Lance was so beautiful it almost hurt too look at him and Keith was beyond thankful to be there in that moment with him, more than happy to drown himself in Lance and never come up again.

Lance was the first to find words though his voice cracked, as overwhelmed as Keith was. “That was...wow.”

Keith chuckled, pleased to hear Lance rendered speechless. “Yeah,” he agreed. Lance’s forehead, still resting against his own, moved with him when he nodded; the crowns of their heads knocked together and Lance laughed when Keith’s ears flicked, catching in the curls of his hair.

He straightened to his full height, snickering at Keith’s affronted expression. “What?” he asked, smiling and happy and radiant.

“I wasn’t done kissing you,” Keith grumbled, reaching up to grip the back of Lance’s neck and pull him down to kiss his laughing mouth. His smile tasted like starshine.

This second kiss was slower, more exploratory but no less intense, and when Lance pulled away they were both flushed and panting once more. He took a step back from Keith and chuckled when Keith made a tiny noise of protest at the distance the move put between them.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of telling me that story, Keith. Now come on, I’m getting cold.” Keith knew that was a lie, his lips still burned from the heat of Lance’s skin, but when Lance once again settled into the bedding piled on the low couch and motioned for Keith to join him Keith wasted no time crossing the small room to take his place beside the altean. He curled his limbs around Lance while he arranged the blankets around them, wrapping them into a warm cocoon.

“Now,” Lance said once they were situated. “Start with the blind guy.” Keith sighed but launched into the embarrassing tale, Lance cradled close to him. They stayed that way late into the night, trading stories and kisses in the warm, sacred space they’d made together.

 

XX

 

Keith palmed open the door to one of the smaller conference rooms on base, searching the area with keen eyes before stepping aside so Prince Lotor could enter. There had yet to be another attempt to harm the prince but Keith remained vigilant, the epitome of a dutiful bodyguard.

Lotor’s slow, painful end (preferably at Keith’s hand) was high on the list of things Keith wanted out of life but the reality of the situation was that if the prince were to be injured on Keith’s watch, Keith would be hunted across the universe and executed by an overzealous and vengeful Lieutenant Commander Aiphos. More importantly, he would lose his access to Lance and any shot at freeing him. Leaving Lance to his captors for another few millenia was not an option - Keith would protect Lotor with everything he had.

The prince brushed past Keith to take his seat at the head of the table opposite the door. He was scheduled to meet with the station’s flight officers about the incoming parts to replace the fighters damaged in the hangar explosion but they’d arrived nearly a varga early. Lotor settled into his chair and brought up a handful of reports on the desk’s holographic surface without a word to Keith.

It took every second of Keith’s lifetime of training not to fidget uncomfortably in the silence. He’d been feeling increasingly on edge during the long varga he spent at Lotor’s side the past several movements, his instincts buzzing warily. Lotor was constantly busy: in meetings, reading reports, and managing the entirety of his forces scattered throughout the vastness of space, but Keith couldn’t shake the growing conviction that Lotor was only biding his time, waiting for something.

The prince was already a movement past his previous longest stay on Xorekar Station, nearly three hundred years prior. The meetings and calls Keith witnessed could be easily handled from the safety of his flagship, with the added convenience of mobility, but Lotor showed no signs of preparing to leave. What was he waiting for? Keith couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever kept Lotor on Torpar VII somehow involved his altean prisoner.

The pressure to get Lance off-planet was rapidly building but Keith was struggling to find the opportunity to contact his organization to ask for help. It was becoming increasingly likely that Keith would be on his own in the attempt to rescue Lance.

‘ _No,_ ’ he thought, remembering Lance’s promise to him. ‘ _I’m not alone anymore._ ’ He and Lance would escape Xorekar Station together.

The comm blinked with an incoming call, drawing Keith from his thoughts of escape plans and his first blushing imaginings of what might come after, the two of them together and free. Lotor leaned back in his seat and accepted the transmission, greeting the half-blood galra who appeared on the wall screen with a magnanimous smile.

Keith recognized the bearded, four-armed unilu-hybrid as the base’s head chef, brought to the station to prepare meals for the senior officers, whose status placed them above having to suffer the nutrient goo the rest of the soldiers subsisted on.

The cook bowed so low he disappeared from the screen, both right fists pressed to his chest. “I apologize for the interruption, Your Most Highness,” he stuttered in a high, breathless voice, “but I was told you wished to personally approve the menu for tomorrow’s festivities.” He looked nervous, his many fingers twitching and his eyes flicking around the room as if he wasn’t sure where to focus his gaze, but Lotor graciously ignored his display of nerves.

“I do. Tomorrow is a treat for my most faithful officers and they deserve for everything to be perfect. Let’s review it together.”

Keith tuned out the discussion on flavor compliments and aesthetics, uninterested. He doubted that most at the meal would appreciate such frivolities and didn’t understand why Lotor was going to the effort. In general, galra were not the type to concern themselves with appearances or to have interests in things that served no practical purpose, but Lotor had announced his intentions to host a formal dinner for the station’s officers and had spared no expense in its planning.

The conversation didn’t take much time and the chef was signing off with another deep bow as the first of the flight officers arrived.

Keith sighed quietly. He didn’t know what Lotor was playing at with his dinner party but he knew without a doubt that Lance would be woken to attend. The prince had yet to miss an opportunity to parade his captive around; he didn’t seem to mind that none of the galra he showed the altean off to fully understood his significance.

Keith paid more attention to the officer’s meeting than he had to the meal planning, noting the expected arrival time of a large delivery of balmera crystals, already converted to power the galra fighters being built. There was nothing he could do with the information but he wondered, not for the first time, what kind of access the rebel operative still hiding on-base had: if they could organize the disruption of that shipment Lotor’s attempts to increase his forces on Torpar VII would have to be put on indefinite hold.

Balmera crystals were becoming exceptionally difficult to acquire and the loss of so many, even of the small fighter-class power sources, would be a crippling blow to Lotor’s plans. Zarkon claimed the vast majority of the mined crystals, leaving Lotor access to only a small percentage and only when the emperor was not actively increasing his own fleet.

Lotor had similar thoughts. Once the flight officers were dismissed he summoned General Acxa to the meeting room.

“After tomorrow’s dinner, go intercept the shipment of balmera crystals. Make sure it arrives here without any delays.” Acxa nodded and offered the prince a quick bow before turning on her heel and exiting the room.

Lotor stood from his seat and cracked his neck, shaking out the long tresses of his white hair. “All that talk of food earlier made me hungry,” he informed Keith. “I think we’ll take our meal a little early today.”

Keith nodded. “If that’s what you want, Your Highness.” He made for the door but Lotor’s voice stopped him before he could get all the way around the conference table.

“Do you think Lance will enjoy the sweetroot salad? I had the plants shipped in specifically for him, after all.”

The air in Keith’s lungs solidified to ice and he fought to breathe; it was a struggle to keep his posture relaxed and he was grateful that he was facing away from the prince. Lotor’s tone was casual and friendly but Keith didn’t trust it. How much did Lotor know? Why did he think Keith would have an answer to that question?

Keith cleared his throat and answered in as even a tone as he could, “I won’t pretend to know anything about the prisoner’s preferences.” That much was the truth: In his experience Lance would eat anything placed in front of him. The altean was eternally hungry and devoured every meal as if he had no idea how long it would be before the next would come. It hurt Keith’s heart to watch him and he tried to sneak Lance small snacks; more, if he was able.

Recognizing that continuing to keep his back to the prince was more suspicious than anything Lotor might read from his expression, Keith turned to face the smirking prince.

Lotor hummed. “Sweetroot was native to Altea, did you know? Lance was never big on eating his vegetables but it’s one of the few surviving species from the planet - much like Lance himself. I’m sure he’ll appreciate my thoughtfulness.” His smile was sharp-edged as he stepped around Keith and motioned to him to open the door. “I really can’t wait to see his face when dinner is served.”

Keith swallowed the rage clogging his throat and swiped his hand over the door’s controls. He escorted the prince to his private suite before retrieving their meals from the buzzing kitchens, the staff there frantically preparing for the upcoming officer’s dinner. He caught a glimpse of the crates of sweetroot and seriously considered setting fire to the entire supply, sparing Lance Lotor’s taunting. It took all of his remaining willpower to leave the crates untouched.

It didn’t occur to him until much later that Lotor shouldn’t be aware that Keith knew what Altea was at all.

 

XX

 

“What made you decide to trust me?”

Keith blinked, thrown by the unexpected question. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I’m the galra here, and Lotor’s personal bodyguard.” Lance gave an unconcerned shrug, waving him off.

“I’m just saying. I could, I dunno, be reporting your illicit nighttime visits to Lotor or something.” Keith snorted.

“Are you?”

“Don’t be dumb, Keith.” Keith groaned and Lance laughed at him, smiling smugly.

“What made you decide to trust me?” Keith countered. He was kneeling at Lance’s feet, the altean seated on the edge of the unused bed in the Chamber’s suite, both of them trying to recover from getting the cursed pair of boots up Lance’s legs.

Lotor took a sick kind of pleasure in making Lance uncomfortable. Once he’d learned how miserable the boots were to put on, every outfit he picked for Lance began to include the quiznaking things. Neither Lance nor Keith was surprised - it was exactly the kind of pettiness Lance had warned him to expect from Lotor.

Lance tapped his shod foot against Keith’s knee. “Can I say I trusted you because of your good looks?” he asked, smirking.

In spite of himself, Keith felt heat flood his face and he glared in a futile effort to distract from his blush. Lance’s smile widened. “No,” Keith growled.

“Fine, fine. I guess I can’t say it was your bad-boy aura either.” Keith’s brows rose, his ears flicking. He recognized Lance’s deflection tactics for what they were and caught Lance’s still-tapping foot, holding it in place until Lance met his eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Keith said, more gently than he’d planned to. “It’s only important to me that you do trust me.”

The truth was, Keith was honored by the faith Lance had in him. Lance had been betrayed by the galra and held prisoner for ten thousand years. He’d watched his homeworld burn and lost everyone he’d ever known and, though he never shared the specifics of Zarkon’s attempts to coerce the Blue Lion’s location from him, Keith was not naive. Lance had suffered unimaginably and unforgivably at galra hands and Keith would not have blamed him for hating every member of the race without reservation but Lance had chosen not to hold Keith’s heritage against him.

Keith vowed that he would never give Lance cause to regret that decision.

Lance shook his head. “No, it’s fine.” He paused and his foot twitched in Keith’s hand. “There were several reasons besides your good looks.” His grin was back and Keith sat back on his haunches with a laugh.

“Well, let’s hear ‘em.”

Lance raised a loose fist and hummed. “Okay,” he said, extending his smallest finger. “You clearly wanted to remove Zethrid’s arm within five dobashes of me waking up because she’s both rude and unnecessarily rough and is a way too fond of throwing me around.”

Keith nodded, remembering that night well. “You caught me off-guard,” he explained. “I had no idea why, but seeing her touching you and being so harsh made me furious. I wasn’t prepared for it and I didn’t hide my reactions very well.”

Lance wiggled his trapped foot. “You did fine. I only noticed because I couldn’t look away from you.” Lance’s face filled with color abruptly as he realized what he’d just admitted and Keith was overcome with the sudden desire to kiss him.

Unable to come up with a reason not to, he rolled to his feet and stood, towering briefly over the seated altean before he bent to catch Lance’s mouth in a sweet, chaste kiss. Lance’s blush was even more vivid when Keith released his lips and settled onto the bed next to him and Keith offered up a smug smile of his own, pleased to have elicited such a reaction. Lance gaped at him in blatant surprise.

“What else?” Keith prompted, making no effort to keep the satisfaction from his voice. His lips were warm from Lance’s mouth.

Lance coughed, visibly struggling to remember where he’d left off, and then extended another finger and cleared his throat. “Right. Two. You didn’t take any pleasure in killing that rygnirathian in the coliseum that first night and you were gonna let me keep that knife.” He raised a third finger and tipped his head towards the head of the bed where he’d left the weapon while he dressed, only the handle visible where it poked out of the chameleon cloth.

“After all of that I was pretty sure, but then you called Prince Daddy Issues, Heir to the throne of Bad Decisions, ‘Lotor’ and I knew.”

Keith was accustomed enough to Lance’s ridiculous names for the prince that they barely phased him but he raised his eyebrows at the second part of Lance’s statement. “Of course I called him Lotor,” he said slowly. “It’s his name.”

Lance nodded and reached up to tug at the shaggy ends of Keith’s hair, grinning. “Sure is!” he agreed. “Most of you serious, sour-faced galra tend to tack the ‘Prince’ bit on there though.”

Shocked, Keith opened his mouth but had nothing to say; Lance was right. It was such a small, seemingly insignificant detail and Keith found himself both impressed by Lance’s intuitiveness and concerned that he might have made a similar slip-up in front of someone who would find his lack of reverence for the prince suspicious.

“So that’s it?” he asked finally, resolving to be more careful about using the honorific when he spoke of Lotor in the future. “I didn’t show the usual amount of bloodthirst and fanatical devotion to the prince and you decided ‘This guy is pretty trustworthy’?”

Lance frowned and dropped his hands to his lap, fidgeting nervously. “Well,” he said, dragging the word out. “There is something else. That pull between us. You feel it, right?” Keith nodded and his ears perked forward, intrigued. “I uh. I really don’t know how to explain it…” It was unusual to see Lance struggling for words and Keith reached out and caught one of his twitching hands, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“There really isn’t time anyway,” Keith said. “I’m under strict orders to make sure you’re not late to Lotor’s fancy dinner. Why don’t you tell me another time?” The truth was Keith was burning with curiosity but that wasn’t a good enough reason to put Lance in a situation where he was so obviously uncomfortable.

Lance said, firmly, “I’ll tell you after,” and Keith didn’t argue. He would never try to stop Lance if he felt he needed to share anything, particularly if it involved them both. “Ready to find out what’s in the box?” he asked, shifting gears.

Keith really wasn’t. The night’s outfit was unusually modest in comparison to what Lotor generally selected: tight black pants sheathed Lance’s long legs to the knee where they tucked into the hated leather boots and his shirt, though sleeveless, covered the entirety of Lance’s torso in the same dark shade. At first glance, there hadn’t appeared to be any accessories but Lance had found a large rectangular case beneath the laid out clothes.

Up to that point, every piece of jewelry Lotor had left out for Lance, no matter how expensive or precious the materials they were crafted from were, had been left scattered carelessly over the bed. Neither Keith nor Lance had been particularly eager to find out what warranted such special treatment and they’d wordlessly agreed to put off finding out for as long as possible.

Unfortunately, time was up. Lance stood from the bed and Keith joined him, turning to eye the dark metal case sitting innocuously in the middle of the mattress.

“I don’t guess you’ll do the honors?” Lance asked with a sigh, and no, quiznak that. It was bad enough that Lance would be forced to wear whatever was waiting inside; Keith would open the stupid box. He grabbed the case’s handle and hauled it closer to them to thumb open the clasps on either side and flipped the lid back.

At first Keith thought Lotor was playing some kind of joke: the jewelry arranged inside the fabric-lined case was dull gray and plain - a series of clunky bands of flat, unornamented metal in various sizes. Lance reached down and plucked out a ring like the box was full of stinging insects, making a tiny noise of surprise when he lifted the jewelry and the light hit the curving surface of it.

“Is this…” he trailed off turning the ring back and forth slowly, transfixed. Keith watched the gleaming indigo sheen crawl across the smooth plane of gray metal and swallowed, his throat dry.

“Luxite,” he confirmed. He picked a thick, heavy band from the case and held it up to the light. “This piece alone could probably buy a few destroyer-class ships.” Lance let out a low whistle, leaning over to peer into the open jewelry box.

“This stuff was hard to get ahold of even before Daibazaal was destroyed,” he said, tone mildly impressed as he sifted through the priceless pile of ornaments. “I mostly only saw it made into weapons, although Zarkon gave the princess of Altea a luxite bracelet for her coming of age. It wasn’t really her color, she was more of a gold and blue kind of girl.”

Keith watched Lance as he began to slide bracelets and armbands and chokers around the dark lengths of his arms and neck. A handful of studs winked from the folds of dark cloth at the bottom of the case, destined for the lines of his pointed ears.

“The swords they could make from the stuff though, wow. I’m more of a gun guy but a luxite throwing knife? I’d have given a lot for one of those babies. That kind of balance and edge can’t be beat.” Keith nodded in agreement, very familiar with the metal - his own blade was crafted from it.

By the time Lance finished dressing he was covered in enough luxite to purchase a handful of planets and Lotor had given new meaning to the word ‘excess.’

“Quiznak,” Lance breathed, looking down at himself, his index finger rubbing at a thick ring around his thumb. He looked even more uncomfortable than he usually did in Lotor’s outfits and Keith was wrapping his arms around Lance’s shoulders and pulling him close to his body before he could talk himself out of it. Lance returned the embrace immediately, curling his own arms around Keith’s waist and burying his face in his shoulder, heedless of the hard plates of Keith’s armor.

Keith tucked his nose into the crook of Lance’s neck, the luxite bands shockingly cold where they rested against the delicate skin of Lance’s throat. Keith knew from experience that no amount of body heat would warm the metal; Lance would spend the evening uncomfortable and cold for nothing more than Lotor’s amusement, his desire to flaunt his wealth.

The familiar rage smoldered in Keith’s chest but he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with the warmth and smell of Lance, and set the anger aside for at least a few moments. The tension was bleeding from Lance’s lanky body and under Keith’s nose his pulse thrummed steadily beneath his skin. Keith allowed his own muscles to relax, feeling knots he hadn’t been aware of loosening, his racing mind slowing and his heart beating strong behind his ribs.

They stood there, quietly savoring the small moment of peace they’d found in one another, for several dobashes.

Lance was the one to break the contact, gently stepping back from the circle of Keith’s arms far sooner than Keith was ready for.

“Time to get this show going,” he said, his voice soft, inclining his head towards the interface on the bedside table where the time was displayed. “The sooner begun, the sooner done, right?” He gathered up his knife and wrapped it in its cloth, tucking the weapon into the high top of his boot.

Keith chuckled, still feeling a little vulnerable after their quiet moment. “I don’t think that applies to a dinner with a schedule and a time table,” he pointed out, and Lance poked his lower lip out in a pout.

“You’re not helping me feel better,” he insisted and Keith snickered.

“So sorry,” he said in a tone that clearly conveyed how sorry he was not. Lance gave him a gentle shove on his way to the door.

“You coming, Furry Ears?” he called, and Keith hurried after him, hiding a smile.

They had sobered by the time they had made it down the hall to Lotor’s suite. Keith tapped his comm to let the prince know they’d arrived and a tick later the door beeped and slid aside, revealing General Zethrid.

Her eyes flicked over Lance from the top of his head to the toes of his boots and she sneered at him, leaning her bulk against the inside of the door frame. She opened her mouth to say something cutting but shut it when Lotor came up beside her; his perusal of Lance’s form was far more appreciative, lingering on the cold metal jewelry.

“Ethereal,” he breathed. “I knew you would be stunning, of course, but my imagination could not do you justice.”

Lance’s shoulder twitched in a careless shrug, the motion sending a wave of purple ripples over the luxite ornaments lining his arm. “If anything,” he said, bored tone almost enough to disguise his unease, “I look divine.”

Keith had to agree with that assessment: the gray jewelry was eye-catching against the darkness of his skin and the flashes of indigo that shimmered over the bands lent an entrancing quality to his graceful movements. His life-lines seemed to gleam along with the luxite, winking out from between the blocky stretches of metal in teasing curls and coils.

He looked ancient and impossible, as beautiful and untouchable as the most distant star.

“You _look_ like an overindulged pet.” Zethrid’s lip curled back from her fanged teeth and she sniffed in disdain.

“Whereas _you_ look like an unwanted mongrel, following your master around and begging for any attention he decides to throw your way,” Lance countered without missing a beat.

Keith was fully prepared for the hulking general to attempt to strike him but she just laughed. Maybe Zethrid was finally figuring out that Lance enjoyed baiting her just to see her chastised; maybe she was just in a good mood. Keith wasn’t sure which option left him more concerned.

If Lotor was surprised by Zethrid’s controlled response it didn’t show as he stepped into the corridor and settled a hand low on Lance’s back, guiding the altean towards the officer’s dining hall.

“Zethrid’s onto something though, isn’t she? You’ve been so well behaved lately, Lance - almost tamed, even. Are you finally getting tired of fighting? You’ve been struggling for so long, all by yourself. Are you ready to accept your fate?”

Lance scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “As long as the universe is in the hands of evil quiznaks like you and your father I will never stop fighting,” he swore, his voice sharp and sure.

Lotor stopped abruptly. His hand moved from Lance’s back to grab his shoulder and he yanked the altean around to face him. His expression was furious, dangerous, and both Keith and Zethrid reached for their weapons. “Do not ever imply that my father and I are the same,” the prince snarled.

Keith was taken aback, shocked at Lotor’s uncharacteristically aggressive response. He’d never seen the prince lose his composure; clearly Zarkon was a sore spot.. Lance just scoffed, unsurprised or unconcerned. Likely it was both; Keith got the sense that Lance had known both Lotor and his father fairly well before the fall of Altea and understood their complicated dynamic better than most could ever hope to.

“Why not? You both look the same through the Chamber’s glass.” Something changed in Lance’s face then, the careless mask dropping away to reveal the predator Keith had caught a glimpse of in the coliseum booth over a phoeb ago. His features took on an almost leonine-quality though Keith couldn’t identify what, exactly, had altered. His eyes gleamed, sharp and wicked as fractured ice and when his lips pulled away to bare his teeth in the hint of a snarl their blunt edges were elongated and sharpened into fangs that flashed in the low light of the hallway.

Lance was fierce and suddenly dangerous and Keith’s heart hammered in his chest. He was hyper aware of the knife in Lance’s boot - if he made to draw it Keith would strike Zethrid down before she could catch on to Lance’s intentions. His muscles coiled in anticipation.

Lance’s voice was deadly serious when he continued, “Don’t mistake my temporary compliance for complacency, Lotor. I took an oath to protect the universe and I will never surrender. Things are changing, and I won’t be caged forever.”

The anger drained from Lotor’s demeanor as quickly as it had appeared and he laughed in delight, his grip on Lance’s bare shoulder loosening until it was more a caress than a hold. “Excellent,” he said, and as far as Keith could tell the prince meant it. “There’s the Lance who piloted the legendary Blue Lion. I was a little concerned, I’m not ready to see you broken at my feet just yet.”

Lotor’s moods had flipped so suddenly that Keith was left reeling, worried about whiplash, but Lance didn’t have any trouble keeping up. He sniffed, the violent tension leaching from his posture and his features softening, losing their deadly edge. “As if you have that power.”

“Perhaps not,” Lotor agreed easily, and stepped off again, resuming their journey to the dining hall.

Keith and Zethrid followed, slower to relax from their ready positions, both of them prepared in case Lance changed his mind and decided to attack Prince Lotor after all.

 

XX

 

The dining hall in the officer’s section of Xorekar Station was far smaller than the ones designed to cater to the base’s run-of-the-mill soldiers and hadn’t been built to service every ranked officer on the station at once. While the lack of seating had been solved by the addition of several tables and a disregard for personal space, there was not an atmosphere conditioner in the galaxy powerful enough to negate the oppressive heat of that many galra packed so close together.

The mood in the room was exactly what Keith had expected: stifled and somber. The officers of Lotor’s army were seasoned, disciplined soldiers and almost exclusively half-galra who had fought tooth and nail against prejudice and troubled backgrounds to reach their positions. Every one of them took their duties very seriously and despite the relaxed dress code only a handful of them had foregone their uniforms. Keith even spotted a few dress uniforms among the crowded tables.

The room was astoundingly quiet relative to the number of diners in it, the clink and din of dishware as the appetizers were consumed more prevalent than the occasional hum of conversation. From his seat next to the prince, Lance made a production of yawning repeatedly.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised this is the modern-day galra idea of a party,” he informed Lotor, his voice too loud in the hushed room.

Lotor chuckled, his smile condescending. “It’s not a party, pet, it’s a dinner. This is a thank-you to my hardworking and loyal officers and they may enjoy it however they wish.” Across the table Lieutenant Commander Aiphos smiled in that obsequious, almost worshipful way Keith had grown used to seeing from her. She was one of the overzealous officers who had donned the formal dress uniform and the orange accents at the joints flashed like warning signs with her every movement.

“We are honored, my prince, that you would go to such lengths for our benefit. We are but loyal soldiers to your cause.”

Lance’s eyes flicked towards Keith’s, his brows raised. “Not the Empire’s?” he mouthed and Keith gave his head the smallest shake.

It hadn’t occurred to him that Lance wouldn’t know that the half-blood galra on Xorekar Station were far more loyal to their hybrid prince than they had ever been to the Empire that viewed them and their mixed heritages as lesser. He wondered what Lance, who had known the galra as they had been originally, would make of the divided factions.

Acxa pulled out the empty chair on Lotor’s right and lowered herself gracefully into it, setting a small bowl of golden blitchi berries beside the prince’s full wine glass.

“Everything’s in order-” she began but Lotor cut her off with a raised hand.

“This isn’t the time to discuss business, Acxa,” he tsked, then picked a fat, glittering berry from the top of the pile and lifted it to his lips, sharp teeth splitting the fruit’s swollen flesh in a burst of pink juices. Keith couldn’t help but notice the way Aiphos seemed entranced by the entire production and beside him, Lance gave the tiniest of snickers.

The silence of the room was shattered by a sudden booming laugh and every head in the room whipped in the direction of the source, several hands straying towards concealed weapons.

At a table by the far wall sat General Zethrid, head thrown back as she howled with laughter at whatever the blushing munitions officer beside her had said. Lotor chuckled and leaned over to speak to Acxa.

“Looks like Zethrid is enjoying herself, though I doubt Narti will be impressed by such behavior,” he told her, voice conspiratorial but pitched to carry to the entire table. Acxa actually cracked a smile and made a noise that Keith would have called a giggle if it had come from anyone else.

Lance made a face. “Is that the one that ended up with the cat?” he asked, sounding appalled. “I hate that cat.”

Whatever Lotor would have answered with was interrupted by the arrival of the main course, the room flooding with kitchen staff bearing laden trays. Keith was abruptly reminded of Lotor’s plans for the meal, the salad made from an Altean plant.

He panicked, trying to catch Lance’s eye and warn him somehow, kicking himself for forgetting, but his thoughts were derailed when he caught sight of a familiar hulking figure. The disgraced and demoted galra officer Lethox was approaching Lotor’s table with a heavy tray of food.

Keith shifted his weight in preparation to stand, hand twitching for his sword, but Aiphos spoke first, recognizing the pure-blood galra she’d tortured and had wished to execute.

“Why are you here?” she snapped. Lethox blanched and Keith could see the fear in the huge soldier’s eyes.

“The kitchen staff needed servers,” he croaked. “Custodial staff was assigned to help.”

Lotor motioned for Lethox to continue serving them, as unconcerned by the huge galra as ever and eager to see Lance’s reaction to the sweetroot. Lethox was quick to begin distributing the dishes, though Keith didn’t miss the way his eyes widened in awe when he got a good look at Lance, looking bored and spoiled, every inch of bared skin covered in priceless luxite.

Keith flinched when a bowl was placed in front of Lance, overflowing with finely shredded strands of delicate pink root. Lance stared down at the dish as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him and he reached out with a trembling finger to poke at the glistening salad.

Lotor’s smile was vicious and triumphant and Keith felt sick, his stomach roiling with regret and hatred burning in his chest. And then Lance surprised them all by laughing. He threw back his head and laughed and laughed until it was impossible to tell if the tears sparkling along the lines of his lashes were born of mirth or grief.

Keith’s heart clenched painfully and all eyes at their table and several of the neighboring ones were fixed on the altean as if concerned he was going to snap and attack them. Keith wasn’t so certain they were wrong to be worried.

“I can’t,” Lance finally wheezed, gasping for air. “I can’t believe that the whole planet - the entire star system - was _destroyed_ and somehow -” his voice broke and he choked on a giggle. “Somehow this cursed, evil quiznak of a tuber managed to survive.”

Lance shoved the bowl away from him, his face screwed up in disgust. “I thought you were trying to reward your officers, not torment them,” he told Lotor, his voice a little more composed, eyeing the sweetroot salads placed at every setting in the room.

Keith had a pretty good idea of the reaction the prince had been angling to elicit from Lance with the Altean dish and it wasn’t hysterical, borderline manic laughter. He recovered quickly though, fixing an indulgent smile on his lips.

“Not everyone shares your...powerful feelings about sweetroot, Lance,” he said, forking up a few strands of the pink root to illustrate his point.

Lance sniffed, turning his nose up and away. “You can learn a lot about a person based on their opinion on that monster plant,” he declared, and the subject was dropped. Keith hoped, fervently and with all his heart, that no one else could recognize the raw pain in Lance’s eyes.

The tension in the room seemed to have been broken by the laughter and the arrival of the main course because conversation began to pick up around the crowded tables. The wine flowed freely, the servers moving expertly around the hall bringing extra helpings and refills to the officers, who were growing increasingly comfortable with asking for more.

Keith noticed the way Lethox, who had apparently been assigned specifically to wait on Lotor, couldn’t keep his eyes off of Lance. Lotor didn’t miss it either and took care to dote on and fawn over the altean whenever the big galra was in earshot, under the influence of berries and drink and eager to show off his prized prisoner.

The dinner dragged on late into the night. It was hard for Keith to have Lance seated beside him and be unable to reach out to him in any way; he wanted badly to offer him some kind of comfort as Lotor continued to belittle and degrade him. But they were far from alone and surrounded by enemies and Keith had already felt the slimy chill of Lieutenant Commander Aiphos’ oily third eye upon him more than once that evening. He couldn’t risk being caught being handsy with Prince Lotor’s ‘pet’.

Keith didn’t care for the sweetroot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on tumblr if you want! I won't pretend I post quality content but I'm happy to talk about Voltron, our boys, or my fic :)
> 
> I'm there as arifail, same as here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-indulgent fluff, some answers to some questions are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's fair to say I wrote the ENTIRE FIC for the events of this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it :)
> 
> For Brittany and Caitlin, for whom I would straight up murder a dude.

It was General Acxa that eventually dismissed Keith from the hall, instructing him to return Lance to the Chamber when she took her leave to catch the shuttle off-planet. Lotor himself was barely coherent from the effects of both the starberry wine and the hallucinogenic berries he’d been indulging in all evening and the assembled officers were uncharacteristically lax and loose in their seats, laughter and loud talk filling the air and spilling out into the hallways beyond the dining hall.

Lance followed Keith down the dim corridors to the Chamber’s suite, fingers fidgeting with the luxite rings banded around them in a show of nerves. Keith’s heart gave a small flutter, Lance’s anxiety kindling his own. He remembered Lance’s resolve to explain the bond they felt between them, but it was obvious he wasn’t sure how Keith would react to the information. His nervousness wasn’t the most encouraging of signs.

Keith swiped his palm over the door’s access scanner and it beeped before swishing open to reveal the room the Chamber was kept in. The glass cryopod sat on the floor, open and waiting, and a shiver of disgust crawled down Keith’s spine. Lance ignored the pod, heading instead towards the low couch still piled with rumpled bedding.

The moment the door slid shut with a pneumatic hiss Lance began to strip the bands and bangles of luxite jewelry from his arms and neck and fingers. The priceless metal clanked and rattled as it was tossed carelessly to the steel floor, scattering in every direction. A heavy band as wide as Keith’s palm that had been wrapped around Lance’s muscular bicep rolled to a stop against Keith’s boot and for a split-tick he was horribly tempted to just steal it.

He allowed himself the brief fantasy of melting the armband down and crafting a second knife; he could totally rock two blades.

Keith was snapped back to the present when Lance cleared his throat. The altean was standing beside the sofa, his shoulders hunched, rolling the luxite studs from his ears between his long fingers. Keith moved across the room towards him and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Lance,” he said, and meant it. “Your secrets are secret for a reason. I trust you with them.”

Lance’s eyes were blue and burning and he leaned forward to kiss Keith as if he couldn’t stop himself. Their lips fit against one another as if their mouths had been sculpted with the other in mind. That familiar addicting heat sparked and crackled, warmth dripping down Keith’s spine and his blood turned to stardust and solar flares, hot and surging and shining in his veins.

Keith cupped Lance’s angular jaw in both hands, wished he’d taken the time to strip away his gloves. Lance sighed, sweet and soft, into Keith’s mouth and let his tongue sweep over his lower lip with all the burning impact of a meteor before pulling gently back and away.

Keith’s eyes had closed at some point and he was slow to open them, silently lamenting the cold that had rushed in to fill the space Lance had left behind. When he blink them open Lance was smiling at him with so much tenderness and devotion that an answering ache flared to life somewhere behind Keith’s ribcage.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Lance said quietly, “but this isn’t about Blue or Voltron and it’s not a secret for me to keep. It’s about us both and this thing between us.”

He settled himself on the couch and drew the blankets over his bare shoulders as Keith joined him. They were not tangled together as they had been before dinner but sat close enough that their knees pressed against each other when they turned to face one another. His heart beat a little faster in anticipation; Keith had struggled a lot with his inexplicable draw to Lance in the beginning of their acquaintance and, while he’d come to accept and even enjoy the bond, it would be nice to finally get some answers.

Lance was still fidgeting and even though patience didn’t come naturally to Keith he tugged off his armored gloves and gathered the altean’s hands in his own. “Take as much time as you need,” he said.

Lance stilled, then drew in a slow, deep breath - visibly steeling himself - and began.

“I think I was aware of you the first moment you got close to the Chamber. It shouldn’t have been possible because when I’m in there every part of me is suspended in every way but I still think I knew you.”

Keith swallowed, remembering his first glimpse of that sparkling glass box, the swirling fog and teasing flashes of brilliant blue light. He remembered the tugging need to be closer, the draw to Lance sparking to life within his chest. It hadn’t left him since.

“How?” he asked.

Lance’s brow creased, his fingers rubbing absently over Keith’s in warm, distracting circles. “I didn’t recognize the connection between us at first because A: it’s really similar to the one I share with my Blue Beautiful so I didn't notice anything new at first, two: you’re a galra born ten thousand years after I technically should have died, and lastly: because it’s the plot point of children’s stories. But now I’m pretty certain...” Lance paused as if for dramatic effect, pulling one hand out of Keith’s to gesture grandly. “It’s Resonance of our Quintessence!”

Keith stared at him blankly and his grin turned a little twitchy around the edges.

“Tell me you know what that is,” Lance groaned, rubbing at his forehead. “Like the romance vids, y’know? Don’t make me explain it.” He was practically begging by the time he finished speaking.

Keith snorted, ears flicking in amusement. He felt strangely relieved; it appeared most of Lance’s anxiety had stemmed from the worry that Keith wouldn’t believe whatever explanation he had for their connection but he needn’t have been concerned. If Keith could handle wild stories of sentient robot lions and world-shaking, life-altering kisses from a ten thousand year old alien, he could handle Resonance of Quintessence (whatever that was).

Now that he knew that the reasons behind Lance’s uncomfortable squirming and nervousness were fairly harmless he had no intention of letting the altean off easy.

“I have no idea what that is Lance,” he said earnestly, furrowing his brow and playing up the confusion and concern. “Is it dangerous?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that!” Lance was quick to reassure him, hands up in a placating gesture. “It’s just. It’s uh…” he trailed off, his dark cheeks flushing so the blue crescents decorating them stood out vividly.

Keith had to cover his mouth with his hand to hide his grin. “Are we going to die?” he managed to ask, his voice strangled by poorly contained laughter.

That last bit had probably been a bit much; Lance was quick to catch onto his game, eyes first widening then narrowing in understanding. When a sly expression overtook his face Keith braced himself for Lance’s retaliation.

Only, nothing could have prepared him for the way Lance leaned slowly into his personal space, his face falling into a solemn, serious mask. His eyes caught Keith’s and held, gaze intense, unwavering. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically vehement.

“What it means, Keith,” and stars, but Keith’s name in that tone did something hot and disruptive to his heart, “is that I feel you _here_.” Long fingers splayed high over Lance’s chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. Keith’s eyes flicked down to look at Lance’s hand before they were drawn inexorably back upwards to meet his gaze again.

“It means that every strand and fiber and spark of life that makes me who and what I am is drawn to everything that you are. It means that I love you and I cherish you and that maybe I was born to love and cherish you and I slept for ten thousand years dreaming of you and waiting for you and I never even realized. I never knew that I was missing you but I look back now and it’s so obvious that my entire life a part of me was longing for something that I never would have been able to find. But I have you now and I’m so much more than I was before because now I know what it is to love you.”

Keith’s face was flushed with heat, his mind blank and his ears ringing with shock by the time Lance finished speaking. He couldn’t make his mouth form words, wasn’t sure what he would say even if it could.

Lance leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest and his expression insufferably smug. “Speechless?” he asked in a teasing tone, as if his entire declaration had simply been a means to one-up Keith and Keith’s response didn’t matter.

But Keith had seen - could still see - the vulnerability in Lance’s eyes; he’d heard the earnest honesty ringing as clear as crystal bells from Lance’s every word. Lance’s confession had been sincere, and no amount of trying to laugh it off would disguise that truth from him.

“Me too,” he said, voice low and rough. Something inside of him felt cracked and as he watched Lance’s face light with genuine surprise it split open wide. He thought of a lifetime of staring out at the stars, longing for the place he belonged. He thought of the place deep inside the center of himself where Lance had made a home.

“I didn’t know I was waiting for you until I found you. But there was a place,” he mirrored Lance’s earlier gesture, hand gripping the plane of his armor over his chest, “here, that was empty until I followed Acxa onto that shuttle and saw the flash of your light in the Chamber.”

Keith’s voice cracked repeatedly over the course of his declaration and his cheeks were so hot he thought they might combust and burn him to ash where he sat. Lance was staring at him with such earnest joy and open awe, though, and Keith couldn’t bring himself to regret his clumsy confession. Instead, he reached for Lance’s hand, limp in his lap, and curled their fingers together.

Lance blinked at the contact, squeezing Keith’s fingers. When he spoke again, his tone was hushed, reverent.

“You love me?” Keith’s cheeks reached a new, previously unheard of temperature and he was certain they were melting off of his face. Or his entire face was melting. His throat was suddenly too dry and his heart was in danger of giving out and stars, _why was this so hard?_

“I uh. Yes. Isn’t that what your Resonance of Quintessence means? It goes both ways?” He flinched at his own deflection but Lance lit up like the flash of a comet.

“In theory,” he said, laughing weakly and slumping in his seat.

‘ _He’s relieved_ ,’ Keith realized. He lifted the back of Lance’s hand to his lips in a now-familiar gesture of comfort and support, his heart feeling swollen and full.

“I’m mostly going off of children’s stories here,” Lance continued. “Before we touched hands that first time I didn’t even think it was a real thing.”

Keith settled himself more comfortably on the couch, the previous tension faded with his concern over Lance’s information. He wrapped an arm around Lance’s waist and slid his unresisting body over until they were pressed flush against one another. Lance grinned at him, his cheeks reddening a bit, and Keith couldn’t help but brush his lips over that faint blush.

“Okay,” Keith said when he pulled back. His mouth tingled from the soft kiss. “Tell me what you know about this ‘child’s story’ resonance.”

Lance sighed happily and draped his legs over Keith’s lap, curling into him. “Resonance of Quintessence. According to the tales - and a few vague and widespread historical accounts - it occurs between two people who are compatible in every way. Their quintessence reacts strongly and irresistibly with the other’s, forming an immediate connection that neither time nor distance can sever.”

“Okay, hold on,” Keith interrupted before Lance could really get on a roll. “I need some clarification here - quintessence like the power source for ships?”

Lance sat up to look at Keith’s face and frowned, that little furrow forming between his thin brows. “I uh. You’re not wrong. It can be used to power ships, usually through crystals that have been imbued with it.”

Keith nodded. “We mine the balmera for them. What does that have to do with you and me?”

Lance’s frown deepened. “Putting aside how bad mining a balmera sounds,” he said slowly, “quintessence is the life-energy of every being in the universe. You, me, creepy Aiphos, animals and plants and even planets, everything is powered by quintessence. It’s the purest form of raw energy that exists.

“Your quintessence is unique to you and is made up by everything that you are. There never has been and never will be another just like you, even if Haggar were to make a hundred clones of you.”

Ears perked and eyes on Lance, he listened to Lance’s explanation with rapt attention. The words were a little stilted and delivered as if he were attempting to paraphrase a remembered lesson that he’d never realized he himself would have to teach.

Keith wondered what other knowledge had been lost to time and genocide and Zarkon’s propaganda.

“Alteans have always been more in tune with our own quintessence than most other races,” Lance flashed a proud grin but it sobered quickly. “There were even some who could use their own life-energy to influence the world around them, perform a sort of ‘magic’. They typically underwent training to become druids.”

Oh. In light of this information, the stories of Haggar’s incredible, unspeakable feats suddenly made a lot more sense. “So the druids…”

“Were altean once, yeah. They’re...They’re not anymore. They’re something else.” He sounded so sad, his voice echoing with that familiar crushing loss, and Keith was quick to change the subject.

“And you?” he asked. “Any feats of magic to wow and amaze me?”

Lance laughed. “Boy, I don’t need magic to wow and amaze you,” he purred, and Keith had walked right into that one but he still blushed, ears flicking. Lance’s grin was back though, bright and flirty, so Keith considered his mission accomplished.

“Unfortunately, the most I can do is provide a lightshow.” On cue, the crescents on his cheeks began to flash, glowing and fading rapidly.

“Useful,” Keith snorted. “Maybe we can come up with some kind of code.”

“Sure,” Lance agreed, delighted. “When I flash three times it means I want you to kiss me.” His smile was sweet and soft, the life-lines on his cheeks twinkling.

“Maybe that’s not a great idea,” Keith said. “You’d be blinking like a beacon all the time.” Nevertheless, he lifted Lance’s chin with the fingers of his free hand and pressed their mouths together.

The kiss was only meant to be brief, a quick taste of one another before Lance continued his lesson, but Keith was drawn in immediately, locked into Lance’s orbit. Or maybe Lance was caught in Keith’s, maybe they were tide-locked - revolving around one another and never able to pull away. Keith would happily stay there, consumed by Lance forever.

And then his hand curled around Lance’s jaw and the tips of his fingers brushed the still glowing life-line curving over Lance’s cheekbone and -

_Oh._

The little tugging pull that had connected him to Lance seemed to open suddenly, a dam that had barely been containing a flood, and sensation and awareness rushed along that bridge between them to drown Keith, gloriously and overwhelmingly, in Lance.

Lance was an ocean, warm and still around the edges, but in the center of him raged a hurricane. Keith could feel his own heat, the fire that made him who he was, on the verge of erupting and immediately swept away in the tidal wave of Lance. But he wasn’t extinguished, his flame was not suffocated and put out by endless water. Instead, the bubbling magma that welled up in the center of Keith was stabilized and tempered, cooled into something solid and strong but still searing-hot, capable of burning.

In return, Lance’s raging storm calmed, waves dying gradually into steady seas. He was sparkling and beautiful and vast and Keith was an island at the heart of him, volcanic and growing. Together, they steadied one another and became something more.

Keith pulled away from Lance’s mouth with a gasp, sucking in air desperately. In his lap, Lance was trembling, his life-lines glowing vividly. His eyes were closed.

“Whoa,” Keith managed after several long dobashes of silence and breathing. Lance nodded weakly.

“Was that our quintessence?” Keith asked. Another nod. Lance’s trembling died down slowly but he had yet to look at Keith.

“I guess that’s why those life-lines are considered private, huh?” he tried, and Lance laughed, his blue eyes finally opening up to meet Keith’s gaze.

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t typically happen like that,” he chuckled. Keith smiled and kissed Lance’s forehead.

“So that was our quintessence resonating?” Keith asked, because he couldn’t think of any other explanation for that overwhelming feeling of _rightness_ , of two parts of a whole finally joining together. “I’ve touched the marks on your arms before without anything like that happening.”

“I wasn’t actively pumping my quintessence into them then,” Lance sniffed. “And yeah, that was resonance. The stories didn’t do it justice. The only thing I’ve ever felt that was evenly remotely like that was when I bonded to Blue, and that was mostly one-way, her swallowing me.”

Keith nodded. “This was both of us, like we were separate and when I touched you, we forged something new.”

“Something better,” Lance agreed, voice soft. “Do you feel it between us now?” He settled his palm across Keith’s chest; even through the thick armor his touch was blazing hot. Keith closed his eyes and turned his focus inward as he’d been taught through meditation.

The place that had pulled and drawn him towards Lance was open now, a gateway between them, and when Keith mentally brushed against it he could feel Lance: his lungs drawing air, his heartbeat, the rush of blood in his veins. He could feel, through Lance, where their hands were connected, the point of contact bright and sparkling like sunlight on waves, Lance’s quintessence reacting to his own.

Keith drew away slowly, almost regretfully. “Nothing can break this?” he asked, his voice hoarse. If Keith had thought his feelings for Lance were enough to destroy him before, losing this bond, the resonance with Lance, would unmake him. Lance was a part of him now, their life-energy merged.

“A connection that neither time nor distance can sever,” Lance repeated quietly.

“Good,” Keith whispered, wrapping Lance tightly in his arms and burying his face against his long, smooth neck. He could feel Lance’s heartbeat, thumping alongside his own. “Good.”

Neither of them spoke for a long time after, curled together on the couch. Keith was content to bask in the heat of Lance’s body and the sensation of the resonant bond humming between them and he could tell, in a vague, impressionistic sort of way, that at the other end of their connection Lance was equally satisfied.

He slumped further around Lance, lingering tension seeping from his muscles. Lance reached up to scratch behind one of Keith’s furred ears with his blunt nails, startling a pleased little groan from the galra before his entire body went lax. Lance chuckled softly at him but Keith could feel his affection, all warm, rippling waves and sweetness.

It was strange and a little overwhelming to experience another’s emotions, particularly for Keith, who barely knew what to do with his own. He’d run the entire gamut of his emotional range over the course of the last several varga and he was deeply exhausted.

The connection of their feelings ran both ways, and Lance seemed to realize that Keith was at his limits. His fingers didn’t stop their soothing motions but the sensations on the other side of their bond gentled and dimmed. Keith jerked in alarm but Lance was quick to shush him, pressing a warm kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“It’s okay. I just dialed things back some. It’s something I learned how to do with Blue. See?” On cue, Keith felt a wash of reassurance and calm that wasn’t his own before Lance retreated again. He allowed himself to relax, relieved. Lance brushed his smile over Keith’s lips.

“Get some sleep, Keith. And I mean actual sleep, not that ‘I’m a warrior and I’m always mostly alert’ stuff you’ve been surviving on for quiznak knows how long. I’ll keep watch.”

Keith craned his neck to look at the time where it was displayed on the little table beside the bed. It was just after the first varga; after his overindulgence, Prince Lotor was unlikely to send for Keith before the eighth. There was plenty of time to rest before Lance would have to return to the Chamber. He nodded his agreement.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Keith was very tired and his reflexes were suffering for it, so it took him a moment to understand what was happening when the weight in his lap disappeared and the entire world shifted abruptly upwards.

Lance had picked him up.

Lance was carrying him.

Keith’s heart did a funny little hop-skip in his chest in response but before he could really enjoy being cradled in Lance’s arms he was being settled with great care atop the mattress. Lips brushed across his forehead and then Lance disappeared from his side, returning a tick later with the blankets they’d been wrapped in on the sofa.

Keith dozed drowsily, allowing Lance to move him as he wished and not protesting when his boots were unbuckled and tugged off his feet, though some niggling voice at the back of his head told him that he should be stopping him. A startled noise from the end of the bed had his ears perking but Lance was quick to throw the blankets over him, murmuring, “It’s nothing. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

That was fine by Keith; if Lance wasn’t worried then he wouldn’t be either. He trusted Lance to keep watch.

A short time later, Keith found himself bundled snugly and tucked up against the long length of Lance’s body, Lance’s fingers once again stroking that sensitive place behind his ears. He felt warm and comfortable and strangely safe, as if Lance’s presence at his side was enough to protect Keith from the countless, constant dangers that surrounded them.

“Sleep, Keith,” Lance breathed, his lips moving against Keith’s hair.

‘ _Is this what it is to be loved?’_ he wondered. He decided that, maybe, it was.

Keith slept.

XX

Lance roused Keith some time later with sweet kisses and a hand on his shoulder. Keith came awake fully and immediately as he’d been trained to do, alert to any danger, but there was a heaviness to his limbs that told him he’d been sleeping, hard and deeply, for some time. A glance at the console displayed on the table to his left confirmed that he’d slept for over six varga.

“Welcome back to the land of the living!” Lance’s smile was wide, his eyes twinkling. He looked no worse for wear after his night spent on guard; Keith found him unfairly handsome. “I’ve never seen someone sleep so hard. I thought you were dead more than once.”

Keith snorted and poked his tongue out at him, a gesture he had picked up from Lance himself, before hauling his body upright. He was momentarily trapped in the blankets Lance had swaddled him in and it took several ticks of undignified squirming and kicking to free himself. He threw the offending bedding over Lance’s head to muffle the altean’s hysterical laughter and stood, smoothing his hand over the nest of his hair and stretching the stiffness from his limbs.

Lance emerged from the tangled blankets, cheeks flushed and hair sticking upwards in every direction, mouth stretched into a happy grin, just as Keith’s eyes landed on the boots of his armor, lined up at the foot of the bed. They both froze.

Keith stared at his boots, sitting innocuously, empty and waiting for him. Empty. An instinctive, visceral panic clawed up from his belly. The boots were empty. Where was -

“Here.” Lance’s voice cut into Keith’s thoughts. He fished around in the seam where the mattress met the bed’s headboard, withdrawing his hand after a brief search. Keith’s luxite knife gleamed in his grip, the glowing emblem of the Blade of Marmora peeking out from the spaces between his fingers.

Seeing it and knowing that Lance had kept it hidden did a lot to calm Keith’s rabid panic but watching someone else holding his weapon went against a lifetime of training. He couldn’t stop himself from lunging across the bed to snatch the knife away from Lance, more roughly than he’d really meant to. Lance huffed but released his hold with only a muttered, “Rude.”

Knife once again secure in his hand, Keith really wasn’t sure what to do or say to Lance; he was certain that the protocol for discovery didn’t apply to the current situation (if possible, kill any witnesses and cover up the evidence, otherwise extract himself and report the mission as a failure) but he didn’t know the procedures for being revealed to an ally. Namely because the Blade didn’t have many allies.

Lance didn’t have the same hang-up. “I don’t know what’s more unbelievable: the fact that the Blade of Marmora is still kicking or the fact that I was surprised to find out you were one of them.” He chuckled, combing his fingers through his mussed hair. “Your air of broodiness should have clued me in immediately.”

Keith frowned. “I am not broody.” No, wait. That wasn’t the most salient point Lance had made. He hurried to continue before Lance could retort with more than just his incredulous expression. “You know about the Blade?”

Lance threw himself back across the bed with a dramatic sigh. “Of course I know about the Blade. They were around long before everything went to quiznak. Always convinced they were oh-so sneaky.” He rolled over onto his belly, bare feet kicking the air above him. “I mean, I guess they kind of were. Alfor told me they assassinated his grandfather while he was sitting on his throne, back before Altea and the Galra reached a peaceful truce. Uh, the first time, at least.”

Keith rubbed his thumb over the emblem engraved on his knife’s handle as he listened to Lance’s rambling speech. He’d known, indirectly and indistinctly, that the Blade had existed prior to the rise of the Galra Empire, but it hadn’t ever felt real. Most of the time it seemed as if Zarkon’s reign had begun with the birth of the universe and that it would continue into eternity but Lance was living, breathing proof that there had been a time and a universe before Zarkon.

Lance gave Keith hope that there would be a time after Zarkon as well.

As to the rest, Keith had never heard of his order assassinating a king before but he believed Lance. He wondered what Kolivan would say to the information.

“...bunch of pricks though,” Lance was saying. “Always so somber and serious. I tried to tell the guy he should lighten up, even blinked the lines on my cheeks when I said it to try to get him to laugh but he was really good at not cracking a smile. Always went on about knowledge or -”

“Death,” Keith finished for him. Lance’s entire face fell and he clambered into a seated position on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, that. I guess that’s still a thing.” Keith nodded and Lance sighed, shoulders slumping.

Keith wanted to comfort him, but a Blade of Marmora was who he was. The order had raised him, trained him his entire life. His mother had been a member. Instead, he put his knife away and grabbed his boots, seating himself beside Lance.

“I’m here on assignment,” he explained, eyes on his feet as he tucked them into the armored boots. “With the whole station on alert I haven’t been able to report in for a while, but if I get word out they may be able to help us get off of this planet.”

He lifted his head in time to catch Lance’s nod. The altean refused to look at him and Keith’s chest ached. It was very obvious how Lance felt about the Blade and the rejection hurt badly. The bond was still dim and quiet on Lance’s end. “This,” Keith had to stop and clear his throat. He tried again. “This doesn’t have to change anything.”

That had Lance’s head jerking up. “Change anything?” he asked, surprised. “Of course it doesn’t change anything.”

Keith froze, confused, his ears perked and his second boot unfastened. His temper sparked. “Then what’s with the attitude?” he snapped.

Lance scowled at him. “I’m worried about you, rocks-for-brains! The Blade of Marmora aren’t known for being survivalists; they had a long and sordid history of self-sacrifice and getting themselves offed and that was before a ten thousand year war!”

“Oh,” was all Keith could think to say.

“Yes ‘oh’!” Lance poked Keith in the chest with an accusing finger. “I’m right, aren’t I?” His voice was loud, almost hysterical.

“There are things worth dying for, Lance.” Keith’s voice was confident, strong in his conviction. He’d always been prepared to trade his life for the cause, for the sake of the Blade and stopping Emperor Zarkon.

What he wasn’t prepared for was Lance’s sorrow and the soul-deep fear that swamped Keith suddenly as the altean relaxed whatever control he had over his side of their resonant bond. It surprised and overwhelmed him; it made some small, hidden part of himself cry out in gratitude and relief because no one had ever been afraid for Keith before.

“I know that,” Lance told him, his voice echoing the emotions Keith could feel from their bond. “You know I do. But I think if there’s anything that can be learned from my story it’s that there are things worth living for, too.” He reached for Keith’s hand, interlocking their fingers. Keith didn’t need Lance to add ‘like this, like what we have,’ he heard him loud and clear anyway.

“You’re right,” Keith said, and it felt momentous, like a confession, like a declaration. He lifted Lance’s hand to his lips, breathed his promise into the warm skin there. “If I’m ever in a situation that calls for sacrifice I swear to you, if there’s a choice that allows me to live, I’ll take it.”

It went against everything Keith had ever been taught to make such a vow. Blades always put the needs of the many above the needs of the few but Keith had decided, the night his hand touched Lance’s for the first time, that what was between them was worth fighting for.

Keith was promising Lance that he would fight for it.

He wasn’t sure how Lance was able to control what he transmitted to Keith over their bond. He didn’t know how much of what he was feeling Lance could sense, or how much of what he was picking up he could understand but it was suddenly vitally important that Lance know how Keith felt about him.

Lance needed to understand the sincerity of Keith’s vow, that he, Lance, was worth living for. He needed to know the depth of Keith’s gratitude to him for everything he’d given Keith: every smile, every laugh, every moment to look forward to; someone to confide in, someone for Keith to care about and to care about Keith in return. Keith’s life had always had purpose but what Lance gave him was depth, meaning, and Keith was so damned grateful.

Lance smiled at him, though it was watery at the edges. “I know, Keith. I can feel you. I know.” He cupped Keith’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. His eyes were blue, so blue, and wet. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I know.”

Keith pressed a kiss to his smile.

Beside them, the console beeped and Lance startled upright. The time display on the table next to them was flashing that it was half a varga until the eighth; evidently Lance had set an alarm.

The altean groaned. “Just when it was getting good, too!” Keith snorted and shoved him backwards as he stood. Lance squawked and flailed, tangling himself in the loose blankets and Keith was struck, suddenly, by the force of his own joy, his affection for Lance who was ridiculous and impossible and so indescribably precious to him.

“I love you.” The words were out of his mouth before he knew he was going to speak but he didn’t regret them, didn’t feel the need to deflect as he had the night before.

Lance’s responding smile, when he finally freed his head from the mess of bedding, outshone even the most brilliant of stars.

“I love you too.”

XX

Keith returned to his own quarters once Lance was settled safely within the Chamber. He’d been smiling when the purple mist had obscured his face and that pleased expression was the only thing that made the sudden cold silence from his end of their bond even remotely bearable. Lance had been right when he’d said the Chamber suspended him; Keith could feel the connection between them but everything was unnaturally still where before Lance’s presence had been a ceaseless tide, rushing and rolling and waving in endless motion.

He’d been bonded to Lance for one night and already returning to the way things had been before felt wrong: hollow and empty in a way they hadn’t been a quintet ago. That was the nature of his entire relationship with the altean, Keith mused: sudden and intense and irreversible. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Keith was stripping off the plates of his armor, intent on taking advantage of his suite’s private sonic shower before reporting for duty, when a flashing red light caught his eye from the room’s small desk. He frowned, curious; he hadn’t used the desk or the console built into it since the quarters had been assigned to him. If Lotor or his generals needed to contact Keith they paged him via the comms built into his armor’s wristguard.

Setting his chestplate on his unused bed, Keith crossed the small area and dropped into the desk’s padded chair, the exposed edges of his leg armor catching on the chair’s cushion. Keith brought the desk-top interface to life with a swipe of his hand; it’s red glow was almost offensively bright in the dimly-lit room and Keith’s eyes took a moment to adjust. The console controls were galra-standard and easy enough to navigate and a few ticks later, Haz’s melodic voice was speaking quietly to him from a recording.

_“Hey Hothead. Thought you said you were gonna call. What - too cool for the common riff-raff now that you’re guarding our esteemed prince?”_

Haz sounded relaxed and unworried, but there was a rough note to his voice that Keith didn’t recognize. And Keith had never promised to call; neither he nor Haz were the type to chat aimlessly over comms and their separate duties kept them very busy. Keith’s heart kicked into a faster tempo, his senses flicking from relaxed to alert. The message continued.

_“Know who isn’t too full of himself to talk to a lowly weapon’s clerk like me? Aide Virek. He visited the evidence lockup - working on that assassination attempt you were investigating, I think - and then we had a nice chat. He was very interested to hear that you’d been by and wanted to know what you’d found. I didn’t have an answer, but we talked a bit about how you and I met. Great story, huh? Real friendly guy, if a bit jumpy._

_“Anyway, I was just letting you know that if you don’t wanna talk that’s fine, I’ve got less angry-stabby galra to spend my time with now. Haz out.”_

The recording program reported no other messages then clicked off, but Keith hardly noticed. He was reeling at the implications of Haz’s call; Aide Virek knowing he’d been in the evidence lockup was not good. That the aide had even thought to question Haz about other visitors implied he’d noticed something was amiss with the assassin’s knife - but how?

Keith had been so careful, the original knife and the copy he had swapped in had been all but identical. The only difference was that the original somehow interacted with the chameleon cloth he’d taken from the assassin’s corpse, but no one knew about that. Well, no one but Lance, but he wasn’t talking to Virek and certainly not about his contraband knife.

There must have been something Keith missed, some subtle visual aspect or...well. It was too late to worry about it. Aide Virek had noticed something was wrong and knew that Keith had been in the evidence locker with no justifiable reason. If Keith was lucky, he would do a little more digging before he reported to Lieutenant Commander Aiphos.

There wasn’t much time. Keith needed to get word out, find out if the Blade of Marmora would help him free Lance. They wouldn’t be safe on Torpar VII for much longer.

Keith hurried to get out of the rest of his armor and peeled off his undersuit on his way to the washroom, activating the sonic shower and scrubbing himself briskly. His mind was racing with plans and worst-case scenarios.

By the time he was clean and padding back out into the bedroom for a fresh undersuit, Keith had resolved to kill Aide Virek, thus eliminating the witness and removing the threat. He buckled his armor on over the gray suit and checked his weapons, trying to determine the best way to get the aide alone without anyone knowing. He was almost always with the Lieutenant Commander, greatly complicating things.

Keith arrived at Lotor’s door a full dobash before the prince summoned him and as he escorted him around the base Keith kept half an eye out for any sign of Virek.

To a casual observer, Prince Lotor appeared unaffected by his night of overindulging but Keith had spent the vast majority of every quintet with the prince since he had arrived to Xorekar Station and was able to recognize the signs of his exhaustion. Lotor had far less patience for the trials of managing his forces than he usually did and the tension in his shoulders and the way he avoided staring at his desk’s brightly glowing interface for any extended amount of time suggested a pretty fierce headache.

What all of this meant for Keith was that Lotor did not comment on his fouler-than-normal mood, or have Lance dragged out and dressed up for dinner. Keith was grateful for the reprieve and the long shift standing guard passed without incident.

Later, after he’d woken Lance and set him up with leftover food from his own meal, he explained the situation with Virek to Lance. The altean was not impressed with Keith’s plan.

“Keith,” he groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. “You can’t just run in, sword flashing, all ‘Off with his head!’ Do you even know for sure that he suspects anything?”

Keith frowned. “Haz said…”

“I know what Haz said. And you believe him so I believe him. And all he said was that Virek asked if anyone else had been by. Coincidentally, you had. Is there any reason you shouldn’t be investigating the assassination attempt you stopped?”

“I-” Keith paused, ears flicking. “It’s not my job. I’m just supposed to keep the prince safe.”

Lance smiled, exasperated and affectionate. “Isn’t part of that job knowing everything that you can about potential threats?”

Keith’s cheeks flushed with heat. “That...actually makes sense.”

“Of course it does,” Lance told him smugly. “I’m a genius.” Keith snorted but didn’t refute his claim.

“And the swapped knives?” he asked instead.

Lance offered him a delicate shrug. “Why would you know anything about a different knife?” he asked airily. “It looks exactly the same to you. You were hoping you’d missed something the first time you’d looked, you went to the evidence locker to double check, but no luck.”

Keith let his shoulders slump, defeated. “Fine, we’ll wait to kill Virek until we have more information.”

“Cheer up,” Lance told him, grinning. There was a smear of dark sauce on his chin. “I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to whip out your sword in the near future.”

Lance did that wiggle thing with his eyebrows that usually meant there was some kind of innuendo going on but if so, Keith didn’t catch it. He was too busy mentally revising his plan, inserting ‘find out what he knows’ between ‘get Virek alone’ and ‘end him’ in the mission objectives list.

Kolivan would be so proud of him.

Keith didn’t see Aiphos, or by extension, Virek, for several quintets after receiving Haz’s message, and there had been no new transmissions from the balmera hybrid. His friend had risked a lot by warning Keith; if Keith were accused of treason, being companionable with him would put Haz in the Lieutenant Commander’s poor graces - a very dangerous place to be.

From what Keith could gather from the updates Prince Lotor received, the search for the traitor operating on Xorekar Station was at a standstill. There had been no further attempts on Lotor’s life or disruptive attacks on the base and with Keith no longer sending updates to the Blade, that line of evidence had died off as well.

Lieutenant Commander Aiphos was not handling the frustration well: punishments for even the most minor of infractions had increased drastically in severity and soldiers were subjected to extra drills to keep them busy, trained, and presumably too exhausted to commit treason. The atmosphere on the base had become dark and tense in a way it hadn’t been before, the galra stationed there turned tired, resentful, and suspicious. Even the dinner Lotor had thrown for his officers had done little to alleviate the tension.

As furious and desperate as Aiphos was, if her aide had told her about Keith’s unauthorized presence in the evidence locker she would have had him arrested, or worse, immediately. As Keith was still opening doors for Lotor and scowling at anyone who got too close to the prince instead of hanging in an interrogation cell, he could only assume Virek was keeping that information to himself.

It should have made Keith feel better, more relaxed, but instead the anticipation only wound him tighter. Virek’s motives remained a mystery and Keith just wished he would do something, anything, so Keith could react. Sitting and waiting did not suit him; he was left constantly on edge and angry, jumping at unexpected noises and bracing for attack from every darkened corner. He couldn’t maintain that level of vigilance for long - something had to give, and soon.

XX

Keith was holding a hand out to Lance, cupped palm full of golden hoops for the altean’s pointed ears, helping him prepare for a night in Lotor’s coliseum viewing booth when the door to the Chamber’s room beeped a warning and slid aside with a hiss.

Aide Virek poked his dark head through the open doorway, eyes flicking quickly over the room, the empty Chamber, and Lance, glittering head-to-toe in gold, before they caught and stayed on Keith. He stepped through the threshold with a twitchy smile, his cheeks flushing and calling, “Keith!”

For his part, Keith nearly drew his weapon; only Lance’s fingers brushing his palm as he plucked up another earring and a spike of warning from the bond stopped him. His shoulders were tight enough to snap his spine and his hand ached for his knife as he assessed the aide taking fast, nervous steps across the small room. Keith couldn’t see any weapons on the other half-blood’s thin frame and even the datapad was missing. It’s lack put Keith even further on edge, that pad was as attached to Virek as his arms or legs.

Keith could feel Lance’s posture shifting beside him as Virek drew to a stop in front of them, preparing to react if the aide made a move to attack. Virek was still smiling his strange, unsure smile.

“Lotor told me you would be here,” he began, and Keith both felt via their resonant bond and saw from the corner of his eye as Lance whipped his head towards Virek, staring in blatant surprise. The aide continued before Keith could discern the source of Lance’s shock.

“I’ve been meaning to find you, I wanted to discuss the investigation into that rebel assassin with you.” There it was; Keith’s muscles coiled in preparation to strike Virek down before he could attack first but, again, Lance stayed his hand.

Virek ducked his head, unaware of Keith’s murderous intentions, his long fingers plucking anxiously at each other. “I wanted to know if you - I thought we could -,” his voice cracked and Keith felt a warm rush of Lance’s amusement when Virek had to stop and clear his throat. “Would you like to compare notes sometime? Different perspectives could be useful, and it’s possible one of us picked up on something the other missed.”

Keith did not know what to make of the request, or the entire situation. He’d expected a lot from this confrontation with Virek, from murder to blackmail and everything in between, but he hadn’t ever imagined Virek asking to - collaborate?

There was another surge of pure glee from Lance and he made a strangled sort of noise that had Virek shooting him a concerned glance, eyes leaving Keith for the first time since they’d locked onto him when Virek had entered the room.

“Sorry!” Lance gasped, his face a shocking shade of red. He held up a golden hoop. “I put this in wrong and it hurt a little. Sorry!” Still, his mirth didn’t fade and Keith shot him a quick scowl while Virek was watching the altean.

“You’re okay?” Virek asked him, and Lance nodded. His shoulders shook a bit with repressed laughter and Keith had no idea what was going on.

Satisfied that Lance wasn’t in eminent danger of keeling over, Virek turned back to Keith expectantly, though his courage was obviously failing fast as his gaze wavered a bit, his twitching becoming more pronounced.

“Uh yeah, we can trade information,” Keith said, because he didn’t know how else to respond. Virek’s shoulders slumped briefly and then he straightened to his full height, face lit with poorly-concealed joy.

“Excellent!” he croaked. “I’m not sure when we’ll both get away from our masters,” Virek giggled and Lance coughed, badly disguising his snort, “but I’ll comm you.”

He was already turning to retreat as he finished speaking and Keith barely managed an “Okay, sure,” before the aide was gone as suddenly as he’d arrived.

The second the door slid shut, Lance lost his composure entirely, howling with laughter. Keith frowned, torn between irritation and concern as he watched Lance, curled into himself, red faced and gasping. The altean was trying to speak, finally managing a breathless, “I did not see that coming! You should have seen your face!” before dissolving again into mad cackling.

Irritation won out. “I was expecting him to threaten me, not want to work together,” he snapped. “You can’t seriously blame me for being confused.”

If anything, his response only made Lance laugh harder, tears dripping down his cheeks. Disgruntled, Keith crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Lance to regain his composure. It took several dobashes but Lance eventually wound down. Keith couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching at the corners with a smile of his own; it was hard to be too frustrated when Lance was so obviously enjoying himself. The altean didn’t have enough occasions to smile.

Lance straightened and wiped at his eyes, still grinning. “I don’t think you have to worry about Virek turning you in. Poor guy - you don’t even realize do you? That’s so tragic!”

Keith’s scowl was back, his ears flattening with his annoyance. “Realize what, Lance?”

“Aide Virek wants you to take him to the juniberry fields at sunset,” he crowed. When Keith’s expression didn’t change Lance’s grin turned wicked. “I’m saying he wants you to court him, Keith.”

Keith’s brain blanked. What? But. “No. That’s not - no way.”

“Way, Keith,” Lance laughed. “You’ve probably missed so many signs. Poor Virek,” he said again.

“There were no signs!” Keith insisted.

“Yeah? Who gave you that fancy suit of armor then?”

“Aiphos.” Keith’s answer was firm and immediate. Lance nodded sagely.

“Uh huh, yup. Did she order it herself? Do you think she took the time to have those fancy clasps for your sword added too? The entire thing fits you so well.”

Keith went still. Mentally, he began to run through every interaction he’d ever had with the aide. A pattern began to form: the awkward silences, the way Virek always seemed to be looking at him, the time he’d personally and unnecessarily escorted Keith all the way back to his barracks after Keith’s meeting with Aiphos. And Lance was right about the armor; it was above and beyond what he could have reasonably expected, custom made to his measurements and adjusted to allow suitable movement for his fighting style.

He dropped his head into his hands with a groan of “Oh no,” and Lance lost it again, laughing hysterically, amused by Keith’s misery. Jerk.

“How long has this been going on?” he wheezed. “You were so sure Virek was out to get you and he was just questioning Haz because he wanted to know more about you, I can’t…” he dissolved into giggles and Keith couldn’t hold back a chuckle of his own.

He had to admit that the situation was more than a little ridiculous but it was the sudden release of the tension he’d been carrying for almost a movement that had him feeling giddy and loose.

Eventually Lance’s laughter died down and they were left smiling at one another. Keith could feel Lance’s affection across the bond, mirroring his own. A thought occurred to him suddenly and he frowned.

“What do you know about galra courting, anyway?” he asked. “And _how_?”

Lance’s smile turned teasing, but there was warmth in his expression. “I know you giving me a sharp, pointy weapon was a sign of serious commitment,” he offered.

Keith’s blood surged to his cheeks so fast he was dizzy with it. “That wasn’t what I meant when I gave it to you!” he blurted. His ears were ringing and his mouth was abruptly dry, his tongue clumsy and tripping over his denial. He hadn’t even considered the implications when he’d handed Lance the knife but Lance’s solemn, slightly awed expression when Keith had presented it to him suddenly made a lot of sense.

Lance had even checked to make sure Keith was serious. Keith was suddenly struck by the urge to smack his own forehead. “I didn’t mean it as a courting gift,” he clarified. “I just wanted to make sure you could protect yourself.” Which was actually the symbolism behind the tradition. Quiznak.

Lance’s face fell, his lower lip poking out into an exaggerated pout. Even his ears seemed to droop, though they were far less mobile than Keith’s and shouldn’t be able to. “So you’re not serious about courting me?” he asked, the teary note in his voice so obviously faked that even that dumb custodian Lethox would pick up on it.

Despite Lance’s teasing, Keith couldn’t bring himself to deny what he felt for him, not even as a joke. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” he said gravely. “It’s really old fashioned and I never considered that I’d want to court anyone anyway. But I love you, Lance. And yeah, I’m serious about what’s between us.” He held out his hand. Lance was gaping at him, all traces of mirth gone from his face and their connection; a warm red blush stained his dark cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“The knife,” Keith prompted him and, moving as if dazed, Lance peeled back the chameleon cloth concealing the weapon at his side and presented it to Keith. He took it from Lance’s clumsy fingers and knelt, his heart hammering with nerves and excitement.

“Lance,” Keith started, looking up at the altean’s flushed face and blue, blue eyes. “You’re a skilled warrior and a fierce fighter.” The words weren’t quite right, the traditional style of courting having gone out of fashion long before Keith’s time, but the intent was the same. “It would honor me if you would use this weapon so that, even in my absence, I can protect you. Use this blade to cut down your foes, for by becoming your enemies they have become mine as well.”

Reverently, Lance reached again to accept the knife Keith held up to him. His fingers closed around the hilt but he didn’t take it right away, allowing his hand to rest in Keith’s so that they were both supporting the weapon.

“I accept your gift, Keith. I swear to you, I will strike at the hearts of those who would threaten you, will tear down any who would do us harm. Every bite of this blade will cut with our paired ferocity and all who would oppose us will fall before our shared might.”

There was a strange solemness to Lance’s voice, an unfamiliar formality and cadence to the words as he spoke them, and Keith realized, awed, that Lance’s reply was likely the ritual response to Keith’s advance. Lance was from a time before galra society had been reduced to militaristic conquering. Keith felt a pang at the reminder; the galra had lost their traditions and culture to Zarkon’s ambition just as thoroughly as the other conquered races of the galaxy had.

Lance took the blade from Keith and flipped it, grinning once more. “Galra,” he snorted, breaking the solemn atmosphere. “Your idea of romance is a pointy object and a promise to kill someone. Be still, my heart.”

Keith couldn’t help his answering smile. “It appears to have worked on you. We’re all serious now.” He’d been practicing manipulating his end of the resonant bond with Lance and he sought it out now, tugging playfully at it.

“Yeah,” Lance said, his smile wide and his eyes shining. “Sure did. Never imagined I’d be happy to be on the receiving end of a galra love declaration but here we are.”

Keith frowned, remembering his earlier, unanswered question. “How do you know so much about it, anyway?” he asked. Lance’s face twisted; he crinkled his nose as if disgusted.

“The Black Paladin got it in his head to court one of my people. What a quiznacking disaster. Looking back, that whole mess should have been our sign of what was to come. You wanna talk about conflicting cultures. You know I caught him moping in the Black Lion once because he said something stupid and she basically eviscerated him for it then refused to return his comms?” Lance shook his head, dismayed.

It was nice to hear Lance speaking of his time before the war without any hint of pain or loss in his voice; Keith wanted him to continue. “So it didn’t work out?” he prompted. Lance snorted.

“Oh it worked out fine. They got married, Altea-style, and were recognized as mates on Daibazaal. Even had a kid. Let me tell you though, after they’d spent any time together the mind-meld was an unpleasant place to be. There are just some things that shouldn’t be shared.”

Keith laughed, trying to imagine what his fellow Blades would say if they could see into his mind just then, basking in Lance’s presence, warmth still zipping through him from their little courting display. Nothing complimentary, probably. He shook his head.

Something else about what Lance had said caught his attention.

“The Black Paladin was a galra?” Lance’s face closed off immediately and Keith regretted his question. He remembered Lance telling him that the Black Paladin had been the first one lost. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have asked.”

Lance shook his head but his eyes were dim. “Don’t be,” he said quietly. He cast a glance over his shoulder to the time display. “We should go now, blow Lotor’s mind by being on time.”

Keith nodded his agreement and, once Lance had hidden his knife away again, led the altean from the room. Before they crossed the threshold, Lance’s hand caught his and squeezed once, quickly, before letting go. Keith sent an answering wash of support down their bond and felt Lance’s mood brighten, just a little.

XX

Varga later, after the coliseum had been soaked in enough blood to appease even the most savage of onlookers, after Lotor had dismissed him to return a still-subdued Lance to the Chamber, after Xorekar Station had fallen into the still, empty state of latest night, Keith woke, consumed by fire and rage.

His heart slammed, caged and furious, against the bars of his ribs and he was drawing his blade, sharp teeth bared in a vicious snarl, before he was fully aware of moving. Flames licked at his mind, wild and unquenchable and intent on burning his captors to ash.

Keith jerked and swept his gaze around the dark room. It was empty and he was alone, nobody that could be considered a ‘captor’ anywhere nearby. The fire flared hotter, abruptly, and Keith realized, with a wash of icy fear, that the rage singing through his veins was not his own.

His first thought was of Lance and he threw himself from his bed, intent on rushing to the altean’s aid. Only, he could feel that empty, quiet part of himself that was Lance suspended within the Chamber, cold in comparison to the raging inferno overwhelming the rest of him, unchanged from when Keith had locked him away. The flames continued to surge, burning hotter and brighter than anything he’d ever imagined, threatening to consume him.

Keith’s own anger, fiery and familiar, flared to life, meeting the blazing wildfire of the foreign presence with wrathful flames of his own. The unknown presence threatened to devour him, so much larger and older and _more_ than Keith himself was, but he grit his teeth and pushed back, furious and unwilling to be burned away from inside his own mind.

Keith fought those consuming flames viciously, desperately, with everything he had; still, he was losing ground. For an endless moment, Keith was certain he would be overwhelmed and turned to ash, and he roared, furious and terrified, determined that he would never surrender.

That foreign fire swallowed him.

Instead of being burnt to nothing in the unimaginable heat, Keith felt a connection ignite into life between himself and that presence. Impressions flooded his mind, images tinted red with fury; a sneering galra with an unnatural arm, a legion of sentry bots, flashes and glimpses of millennia spent waiting and waiting, _endlessly waiting_. The being’s presence was muted, dulled as if by sleep, but it was unmistakably calling to him, commanding him. ‘ _Come find me_ ,’ it seemed to demand, enraged and impatient. ‘ _I’ve waited long enough_.’

Abruptly, Keith was returned fully to himself. He could feel that new bond, hot and so angry, stemming from the center of himself, separate from but similar to the resonant bond that tied him to Lance. Confused and exhausted from his desperate struggle and the subsequent forging of a bond to that unknown, ancient being, Keith slumped back into his bed.

Despite the uncertainty and the questions the encounter had given rise to, despite the massive, foreign presence that had made itself home in Keith’s being - tied itself to his quintessence, if he had understood Lance’s explanation correctly - Keith was not afraid. There was an overwhelming sense of rightness to the connection and Keith did not fear the rumbling, fiery entity.

In the back of his mind, a lion roared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey the Soulmate part finally came into play! Who knew. Things start happening in the next chapter, which is a long one. Thanks for sticking with me this far :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the beginning!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So SO sorry for the wait! Some warning for gore and violence in this chapter but nothing too extreme, I think.
> 
> A HUGE thanks to leggylance and someonetheelusivefangirl who were way sweet and gave me the boost I needed to finish this when life got out of hand!
> 
> For Brittany and Caitlin, for whom I would try to 1v2 a pair of paladins.

By morning Keith regretted the decision not to wake Lance the moment the new, foreign bond was forged in his mind. He’d gotten no further images or impressions from the burning link but the sense of urgency and anger had yet to abate; it left him feeling more volatile, less in control, and he was struggling to focus as he kept an eye out for any physical threats to Lotor.

The prince and Keith were positioned atop a catwalk overlooking the combat training floor. Below them dozens of soldiers ran through drills and holographic scenarios, some focused on defending Xorekar Station in the event of an attack and others preparing for deployment to quell rebelling planets.

“Your troops are performing to your satisfaction, my prince?” Lieutenant Commander Aiphos stepped off of the lift from the deck, dipping into a deep bow before approaching Lotor. Aide Virek followed close behind her, his datapad once again in hand. Keith felt his cheeks heat and very deliberately didn’t meet the aide’s eyes.

“You never fail to impress, Aiphos,” Lotor was saying. “They barely resemble the disorganized forces you took command of.” Aiphos did a poor job of suppressing her delighted shiver at the praise, her three tails curling and coiling together excitedly.

“Thank you, my prince,” she breathed. Lotor hummed in acknowledgement, his attention already returned to the training soldiers below. A cheer went up, brief and restrained, when one of the units defeated their scenario without any fatal casualties on their side.

It was one hell of a feat and a phoeb ago the entire room would have been congratulating them on such an impressive display, promising celebratory drinks in the lounge later. The lack of response was one more sign of the tension that had overtaken the base as Lieutenant Commander Aiphos’ frustration with the failing search for the rebel traitor continued to rise.

Keith let his focus drift while Lotor and Aiphos traded remarks about the galra below and commented on areas that needed more work and training. It was exactly the kind of information Keith had been tasked with retrieving for the Blade but the burning presence in his mind demanded his full attention.

He sifted through what he could remember from the night before: rage, the feeling of being caught and trapped, the fury directed at those who had captured him.

There. That feeling had been accompanied by images, glimpses of robotic galra sentries through a haze of red. Sentries alone wouldn’t have apprehended someone - a living galra would have to be present to direct them. Keith furrowed his brow and squeezed his eyes closed, straining to remember.

He was rewarded with the flashing glimpse of an enormous robotic arm, the glow of a single cybernetic eye. The description was a familiar one - maybe one of Zarkon’s commanders?

He was jerked back to reality by a slick-slide feeling like frigid oil poured down the length of his spine, his hair raising in its wake. Keith ripped his eyes open and met Aiphos’ creeping stare; her third eye seemed to gape like an open wound in the center of her forehead, black wetness glistening in its depths. Her yellow eyes were narrowed, watching Keith as if she’d never seen him before, a predator waiting to strike, gauging how this new prey would react to her advances.

A responding roar echoed in Keith’s mind, furious and challenging, and he flattened his ears into his hair, irrationally terrified that Aiphos would somehow hear.

He wondered what the Lieutenant Commander was seeing in him that hadn’t been there before. She’d watched him more closely than he was used to at the officer’s dinner but this was on another level entirely. His hand ached to grip his knife.

The moment stretched, Keith’s heart rate increasing with every tick as Aiphos stared, unblinking. She tipped her head to the side and Keith’s body jolted in alarm, preparing to fight or flee depending on Aiphos’ next move.

It was Lotor’s voice that broke the stare-off. “Aiphos,” he said, still watching the figures moving about the training floor. “I’d like to speak with the drill instructors.”

Aiphos turned her eyes from Keith and the sick, frozen feeling vanished from his skin. “Of course, my prince,” she answered Lotor, her voice cool and composed. “If it pleases you, I will have them assembled.”

Lotor stepped back from the catwalk railing and shook his head. “No, I’ll go to them,” he said, gesturing at the drills going on beneath him. “It’s not necessary to interrupt their training.”

Aiphos saluted Lotor and moved aside so the prince could reach the lift to access the deck below. Over her shoulder, Keith caught a glimpse of Virek, watching him with an expression he thought might be one of concern.

Keith made to follow Lotor but was stopped by the prince’s upheld hand. “Keith, go prepare Lance and bring him to my quarters. His presence will be required for tonight’s proceedings.”

His instincts, already on edge, screamed at him. Something about Lotor’s phrasing was just wrong: why was Lance required? What proceedings? Keith snapped a stiff salute, fighting to keep his expression neutral. “Yes, Your Highness.”

He turned on his heel and crossed the catwalk, aiming for the upper exit to the training deck. The presence in his head was still growling and his instincts were clamoring and it was too much, overwhelming. He needed to speak to Lance immediately, and he hurried as fast as he dared towards the room the Chamber was kept in.

Lance’s feelings of alarm, triggered by Keith’s turmoil, blared across their resonant bond before the purple smoke inside the Chamber had even begun to dissipate and Keith had to catch his shoulders when he attempted to sit up immediately, not giving his strength the time it needed to return. He sucked in a breath and toned down his side of the connection, sensing that Keith was at his emotional limits.

“What’s wrong?” he gasped, eyes searching the room for the source of Keith’s distress. Seeing that they weren’t under immediate attack, he relaxed marginally and sought Keith’s gaze. “Keith?” he asked, voice cautious.

For a brief moment, Keith wasn’t sure where to begin but the hot flames in his mind prompted him to start with the unexpected, unexplained bond. “Last night, I was woken suddenly by this...fiery anger. It wasn’t mine. I thought it might be you but you were still in the pod, I could feel you there. It formed a kind of bond between me and this massive entity.”

Lance’s second attempt to sit up was successful but Keith didn’t remove his hand from his shoulder, craving the warmth and support offered by the contact.

“Fiery?” Lance asked, thin brows drawn together. The remaining wariness drained from his posture and face and Keith allowed Lance’s calm response to soothe his frayed nerves, sighing as some of the tightness in his shoulders eased. “You thought it was me - does it feel the same?”

Keith considered, probing tentatively at the new bond. “No,” he said slowly, then shook his head. “I don’t know, maybe?” He scowled, frustrated and unsure how to explain. “It’s bigger and less...it’s not really a bond of equals. It’s like a raging inferno that swallowed me and -” he paused, remembering how desperately he’d fought, certain he’d be burned away.

Lance’s eyes were wide. “That sounds…” he changed tracks, asking, “Can I feel?” Keith blinked, confused.

“How would you feel it?” Lance’s presence in his mind shifted and Keith sensed the cool, soothing wave that was Lance interacting with their bond. Keith abruptly understood what Lance wanted and nodded, sliding his hand down Lance’s bicep to cup his palm over the thick life-line curling there.

Lance closed his eyes and Keith felt his quintessence surge suddenly, filling the channels of the blue markings so they lit, incandescent, in the dark room. The instant the swirl under Keith’s hand began to glow he was swept away in Lance, surrounded by that living, endless ocean he’d experienced when they’d first formed their bond. He felt, distantly, Lance’s awareness of Keith’s hand on his arm, the sensation of their resonance like waves breaking across his skin where Keith felt it as a flickering warmth.

Lance’s surprise and awe flowed over Keith and when he followed the line of Lance’s focus he could see that volcanic island that was his part of their resonance caught aflame, burning higher and brighter than Keith could comprehend.

Lance sensed his shock and his sudden fear and sent a swell of reassurance washing over him; the water lapping at the shores of the island suddenly grew more insistent, surging forward and smothering the edges of the raging inferno. Keith couldn’t help but be relieved at the sight; he should have known Lance would never allow him to be consumed.

Lance had found what he was looking for. Keith picked up on his intention to pull away moments before his consciousness was fully returned to his own body, the glowing life-line beneath his hand dimming. He blinked open his eyes and met Lance’s excited gaze; the altean was practically vibrating, clambering up from the Chamber and pulling Keith with him. They’d been lost in their resonance long enough for his strength to return though it had felt no longer than a heartbeat.

“I’ve seen that before!” Lance told him breathlessly, eyes sparkling. “It’s really similar to Blue. I mean she’s the spirit of water so there’s no fire but -”

“It’s one of the Lions, isn’t it?” Keith interrupted him. “I can hear it, roaring. It’s a Lion of Voltron.”

Lance nodded rapidly, gripping Keith’s shoulders. “It’s the Red Lion,” he said, voice hushed, reverent. “Red sought you out and bonded to you even over this distance. It shouldn’t work like that, actually.” He bit his lip, thinking. “The Lions are linked. Maybe he felt you through my bond with Blue.”

The Red Lion. It felt right in a way Keith couldn’t explain and he thought the answering rumbling from that fiery presence might be an approving purr. He was bonded to the Red Lion.

But wait, that would mean -

“I’m the Red Paladin?” he asked Lance, his stomach flipping. He knew the answer before Lance nodded, the altean’s marks gleaming with the strength of the joy Keith could feel singing from their connection.

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it,” Lance told him, a little sheepish and still so excited. “It’s going to be Keith and Lance, side by side. We’ll go get Blue Beautiful, your bond will lead us to Red, and then we’ll find the others and their pilots and Zarkon will finally have a real fight for the universe on his hands.”

Keith’s blood turned to ice in his veins and he froze as if struck by paralysis as the visions from before finally clicked into place in his head. Lance instantly picked up on his fear and stopped his enthusiastic planning. “Keith?” he asked again in the same wary tone he’d used before.

“Lance, I think the galra already have Red.” The abrupt roar of fire and fury from his link with the Lion was all the confirmation Keith needed.

Lance paled, blood draining from his face so rapidly Keith reached out, ready to catch him in case he collapsed. “Oh. That’s not. Quiznak.” His voice shook and Keith gripped his elbow and steered him towards the couch, worried about the sickly pallor of his skin. “I always knew Zarkon finding the Lions without my help was a possibility but…quiznak,” he said again.

“I don’t think they’ve managed to do anything,” Keith told him, concerned by Lance’s fast, shallow breathing and the edges of panic he could feel from the altean and scrambling for any kind of reassurance he could offer for either of them. “Red feels muted, kind of far away? Like he’s asleep.”

Lance met his eyes, finally sucking in a deep breath; Keith felt his fear recede, replaced by a fierce determination that bolstered Keith’s own resolve. “You’re right,” he said, his voice steadier. “Red will only respond to his paladin. There was a risk that Zarkon or Haggar could force a connection on the Lion when there was no paladin but now that Red is bonded they won’t be able to get anything from him.”

Keith blew out a sigh, relieved at the news that for now, the Lion - his Lion - was relatively safe from Zarkon’s machinations. “So what’s our next move?”

“We have to get out of here,” Lance told him, tone and expression grave. “It’s bad enough that Zarkon and Lotor had one paladin, two is a disaster. They can’t know who you are, Keith.”

“I’m not leaving without you,” Keith insisted, and Lance rewarded him with a laugh.

“That’s good, because I don’t intend to stay here. But we need to leave tonight; we’ll take a shuttle and go. Your new status as a paladin means we can’t afford to wait for help.”

Keith grimaced. They’d talked extensively about how to get off of Torpar VII but their options were limited. Keith wasn’t authorized to access the fighter crafts and a shuttle was too slow: Lotor would catch up with them no matter how big their head start was. The civilian shuttles that ferried guests to and from the coliseum every movement would be ideal if Keith weren’t so recognizable. As it was, his unique physical traits and the passenger logs Aiphos had put into place after the assassination attempt made boarding the civilian transports far too risky.

“It’s not going to work, Lance. They’ll catch us before the next quintet.” Lance scowled, aggravated. Keith shared his frustration; there had to be some route, some way out they were missing.

A beep followed by the hiss of the door opening had Keith lunging from the couch, hand reaching for his sword. Behind him, Lance made a distressed sound as the small room was flooded with galra soldiers.

Keith snarled, his heart racing and dread weighing heavy in his stomach; he recognized the soldiers moving to surround him as the same squadron that had aced the simulation on the training floor.

“Surrender your weapons,” one of the armed galra demanded, the barrel of his rifle pointed at Keith’s head. The glowing emblem on his chest plate marked him as the unit’s commander.

Keith curved his hand around the hilt of his sword where it extended over his shoulder, weighing his options, assessing the threat. These soldiers were skilled and well organized but they’d only recently completed a grueling training trial and in such close quarters their guns would be more a hindrance than an asset. They would risk hitting one another if they fired their weapons, and the reach of Keith’s sword would close the distance between him and the soldiers faster than they would be able to line up a shot. Lance and Keith were both armed with blades, giving them the advantage in the small room.

Keith readied himself to draw his weapon and strike - the commander first, he decided - and felt Lance doing the same, the rush of adrenaline and anxiety and fierce, violent elation from their bond enhancing Keith’s own battlelust. He bared his fanged teeth and swept the sword from his back, throwing himself at the galra squad leader with a shout.

There was a scream and the crack of bone behind him and he thrilled in Lance’s feral satisfaction even as the swing of his sword was halted by the stock of his enemy’s rifle. Keith dropped low, kicking the galra’s leg out from under him and pushing the point of his sword through the unarmored crease at the galra’s groin and thigh, allowing the soldier’s weight to drive the blade deeper as he fell, up into his belly, dragging on bone.

His instincts roared and Keith threw himself back, releasing his hold on his weapon just in time to avoid the violet rifle beam that would have burnt through his skull. It drilled into the dying squad leader and Keith whirled, pulling his pistol from the holster on his thigh. He sighted down the gun’s length at the second soldier but was forced to roll away to avoid another blast from the galra’s rifle.

The soldier dropped before Keith found his feet, a smoking hole coring his forehead. Visceral triumph sang through Keith and he wasn’t sure if it was his or Lance’s as he turned and caught sight of the altean, the pistol from the soldier he had killed held rock-steady in his hands.

The remaining galra had backed up, forming a tight half-ring in front of them. Keith’s smile was back; there were only seven soldiers between them and the doorway. He and Lance were going to do this, they were going to get free.

He caught Lance’s gaze from the corner of his eye and the altean nodded toward Keith’s fallen sword. Lance’s life-lines were glowing, a smear of blood painted one dark cheek. He was the most beautiful, glorious creature Keith had ever seen and together they were going to get off of Torpar VII.

There was movement in the still-open doorway and Prince Lotor stepped into the Chamber’s room, General Zethrid and Lieutenant Commander Aiphos accompanying him. Keith could feel Lance’s hatred for the prince, unrestrained for the first time and even greater than his own. Faster than anyone could react the paladin aimed his stolen gun between Lotor’s narrowed eyes and pulled the trigger, once, twice, a third time, in rapid succession.

The pistol remained lifeless and unresponsive and Lotor laughed. “I’m not a fool, Lance, and I’m still not ready to die. The guns on the base come equipped with kill switches.” He motioned for Aide Virek, hovering in the hall, to enter the crowded room. A datapad was clutched in the aide’s hands. “Turn off Keith’s too,” the prince commanded and a tap of Virek’s fingers later Keith felt his weapon’s power drain away.

Keith’s anger was a living thing in his chest, fueled by desperation, and he could feel Lance frantically searching for options, a way out.

Lotor clicked his tongue. “Such a mess you’ve made, Lance. I’m so disappointed. What were you hoping to accomplish?” Lance bared his teeth, once more elongated into leonine fangs.

“Turn my gun back on and I’ll show you,” he snarled. Lotor snorted.

“Zethrid, retrieve Lance, please.”

It was Keith’s turn to growl. “Don’t. Don’t you touch him.” Zethrid paused on her way to Lance and Keith could see her assessing him, rating the threat he posed. He could see her underestimating him.

“If either of them moves, shoot Keith,” Lotor instructed the assembled soldiers. Keith scoffed but Lance immediately dropped his stolen pistol.

“Don’t hurt him Lotor,” he said, an undercurrent of pleading leaking into his voice. Keith flattened his ears into his hair, angry, watching their chance for freedom slipping out of reach.

“Quiznak that! Lance, take her out!” he shouted, heart hammering and Red roaring at the back of his mind. He desperately willed Lance to draw his hidden knife and gut Zethrid, to _get out_.

None of the anger Lance was feeling showed on his face as he allowed Zethrid to cuff him, his eyes dark and fixed on Lotor.

Lotor nodded towards Keith. “One of you restrain him before he does something unreasonable and gets himself killed.” Keith bared his teeth at the pair of soldiers that advanced on him, prepared to throw his rifle at them and pull his hidden knife, but Lotor continued, “Would you even survive his death, Lance?” and Keith froze in his tracks.

Lance shrugged, affecting carelessness. “Dunno,” he said and Keith’s heart sank at the honesty of the response. It was a side effect of their bond he hadn’t considered. “Is it really worth the risk to find out?” Lance asked.The galra soldiers rushed forward to pull the useless gun away from Keith and bind his unresisting hands.

Lotor laughed, crossing the room to where Lance stood, wrists bound and Zethrid’s heavy hands on his shoulders, keeping him in place. The soldiers fell away to make a path for the prince; Lieutenant Commander Aiphos and her aide lingered by the door.

Keith lunged forward with a yell when Lotor took Lance’s chin in his hand, tipping his head back and forcing the prisoner to look up at him. One of the soldiers who had seized Keith slammed the butt of their rifle into his face and he could hear Lance shouting as he staggered, vision going fuzzy for a moment. Blood dripped, hot, from his nose and his ears were ringing when he slumped in the soldiers’ hold.

“Oh my,” Lotor said, touching the tips of his fingers to Lance’s face. “Did you feel that?” Lance glared and didn’t answer but the prince wasn’t bothered by his silence.

“I knew about the affection between you and young Keith of course, neither of you was gifted with subtlety I’m afraid, but imagine my surprise when Aiphos informed me that Keith’s very life force had connected with yours.” He laughed again, tone cruel.

“Resonance of Quintessence, Lance, really? Only you would forge a legendary soul-bond with a random mixed galra ten thousand years after you should have died. I really should have seen this coming.”

“Shove it up your quiznak you overgrown son of a-” Lotor tightened his grip on Lance’s chin, cutting off his words, fingers digging firmly enough into his skin that Keith could feel the pressure along his own jaw.

The prince sighed. “Such a mouth on you. I’m really out of patience, Lance. I’ve waited several phoebs with nothing to show for it.”

Lotor’s hand kept Lance from responding but Keith grit out, “Happy to disappoint,” desperate to draw the prince’s attention to him.

Lotor’s husky chuckle sent shivers crawling down Keith’s back. “I wouldn’t call it disappointment. I might be willing to forgive your treason, Keith - I encouraged it after all. I know that Lance is so very hard to resist and I wondered what he would do, with an ally, the barest hint of hope. Watching you has been incredibly enlightening.”

He moved his hand then, sliding his fingers along the sharp line of Lance’s jaw and tipping his head back further. Keith hissed at the twinge of pain in Lance’s neck, incensed.

“You really can feel when he’s hurting, can’t you?” Lotor asked, his voice pleasant, curious. Keith felt cold, fear finally making itself known beneath the wildfire anger. “Quintessence has always been something of an obsession of mine. The idea of Resonance is especially fascinating but I had thought all avenues for that line of study were long dead.” He punctuated his statement by digging clawed fingertips into the vulnerable skin behind Lance’s jaw.

Keith screamed in fury, thrashing against his captors’ holds as bright points of pain burst into existence along his neck. Lance was shouting at him, Lance was _afraid_. Keith was going to kill Lotor, was going to tear him apart -

Abruptly, the sensations vanished. Lance had muffled the link. No. _No._ “No!” Keith yelled, his throat tight. “Lance, don’t -”

“He’s closed off his end of their connection, my prince,” Aiphos reported, her voice sharp, her glee barely restrained as she watched them suffering at Lotor’s hand. Keith hadn’t noticed the wetslime _wrong_ feeling of her third eye’s regard with everything else going on but he was suddenly very aware of it as Lotor gave a thoughtful hum of acknowledgement.

“You’re really more clever than the other paladins gave you credit for, Lance.” He released Lance’s face and stepped back, turning his attention towards Keith, his claws tipped with bright blood.

Keith straightened as best as he could in the soldiers’ holds, gritting his teeth and bracing himself as Lotor approached, drawing a curved knife that glinted purple in the low light. His heart hammered frantically against his ribcage but he didn’t flinch when Lotor pressed the blade’s wicked edge to his cheek, parting the fur there but not the skin, not yet. Keith would take any number of cuts without regret to keep them from Lance.

Lance was shouting again, frantic. “Lotor don’t! Tell me what you want, please!” He was straining against Zethrid’s grip, the muscles in his arms bulging as he fought to break the binds trapping them.

Lotor’s smile was sharper than his knife. “Tell me, does Keith know the same trick to keep from sharing his pain?”

Lance’s eyes widened and he threw himself forward as the blade split the flesh of Keith’s cheek, a line of burning torment sparking to life down to the curve of his jaw. Keith gritted his teeth as hot blood poured immediately from the wound, spilling over his neck to pool in the hollows of his armor as Lotor continued to gouge at his face. He scrambled desperately to contain the pain, to keep it from transferring down the resonant bond, but Lance was screaming and writhing, kicking at Zethrid and begging Lotor to “Stop, please, stop hurting him,” while Lotor laughed.

Keith and Lance both slumped, panting, when the knife finally left Keith’s skin. The line of agony carved into his cheek wept blood freely; it felt wide along his jaw, narrowing to the point of his cheekbone, and a distant, shocked part of him wondered what he looked like, a wedge of flesh and fur cut away.

“Ten thousand years Zarkon tried and failed to break you, Blue Paladin. Even with his intimate knowledge of your mind he couldn’t see that your one real weak spot was your heart.”

There were tears sparkling on Lance’s unwounded cheeks. The sight of them hurt Keith more keenly than Lotor’s blade ever could.

The prince moved away from Keith, handing his bloodied knife off to one of the waiting soldiers. “Have them both taken to interrogation cells,” he ordered. “I want to test this Resonance some more and the rooms there are better equipped for what I have in mind.”

“Lotor please,” Lance started, but Lotor laughed.

“Look at you, reduced to begging in a matter of dobashes. I expected better, Lance.” He approached Lance again, bending to whisper something in the shaking altean’s ear as Keith was dragged away, struggling futilely against his bindings.

Somewhere out amongst the stars, trapped in the hold of a galra cruiser, Red roared, echoing Keith’s screams.

 

 XX 

 

Keith was aware of the still quiet at the end of the resonant bond before anything else, relieved for the first time to feel Lance suspended inside of the Chamber. If he was locked away he wasn’t hurting, and that was enough.

The pain came next. The gash on his cheek was the worst of it, burning like acid poured into his skin, but there wasn’t a part of him that didn’t ache. He considered himself lucky that none of his bones had been broken, but Aiphos’ administrations were every bit as horrific as the rumors had claimed.

His hidden knife had been discovered when his armor had been stripped. Lieutenant Commander Aiphos had recognized the glowing emblem of the Blade of Marmora and had sneered at him, handing it off to Aide Virek with instructions to deliver it to Prince Lotor. “It seems we’ve found our traitor,” she’d snarled, tails lashing in her fury. “I will beg the prince to grant whatever is left of you to me when he is finished using you to break the Blue Paladin.” Keith hadn’t been given time to respond before she’d begun her work.

He didn’t know how long he’d been interrogated (was it an interrogation if Aiphos hadn’t asked him any questions?); by the end it was all he could do to try to keep his pain from tearing down the bond to Lance. He didn’t think he’d been successful but the only things he’d picked up from Lance in return during the entire ordeal had been his support, his fury, and his love. It had been enough to get Keith through, at least for that first round.

The cell he was in was uncomfortably warm, the air humid and tacky with spilt blood. Keith pressed his uninjured cheek to the dirty floor, seeking any hint of coolness, but the brushed steel was made hot by the desert outside and offered no relief.

He drifted through the haze of pain and silence, eyes closed and breathing uneven. There was an urgency burning away at the back of his mind, demanding he keep fighting, that he get off of the floor and out of his cage, that he go find Lance.

Escape was impossible; he was unarmed and unarmored, his legs and wrists bound, his arms numb from the weight of his body where they were trapped beneath him. His head felt fuzzy and too-heavy, exhaustion and blood loss weighing his thoughts. It would be a struggle to sit up, never mind break out of the room.

The Red Lion roared at him. ‘ _I_ _chose no coward as my paladin_ ,’ he seemed to bellow, furious, and Keith’s heart slammed against his ribs. Keith opened his eyes, determination rekindled. The lighting in the cell had a red cast to it, intended to be intimidating, but the sight of it only bolstered his resolve. Red was right - he was the Red Paladin of Voltron and giving in to Lotor would never be an option.

Keith needed to get out of his cell, reunite with Lance, and get the quiznak off of Xorekar Station.

The first order of business was standing: no easy feat with this arms trapped behind him and his legs bound together. Keith gritted his teeth and, ignoring the ache and throb of his injuries, rolled his body over and over until he was wedged against the nearest wall. Next he shoved his bare feet against the floor, inching his way up to the corner, every move dragging bruises over the unforgiving steel and setting his shoulders screaming at the pull on his trapped arms. Tacky blood pulled at his skin and fur every time he shifted.

He was paused for breath in the corner, intending to use the walls to brace his body while he forced himself upwards to a seated and eventually standing position, when the door beeped and slid open. Keith froze, tied up on the floor and helpless, as a tall, hooded figure stepped into the cell with him.

The figure turned their back to the corner opposite the entrance and produced a very familiar datapad from the folds of their cloak. A tick later they lowered the pad and tugged back their hood, revealing the angular features of the Lieutenant Commander’s aide.

“Virek?” Keith asked, wincing when his voice scraped painfully over his throat, torn and raw from his screams.

The twitchy half-galra winced as well and moved swiftly across the narrow room, freezing when Keith flinched at his approach. “Keith, I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, his own voice hushed.

Keith eyed the aide critically. Was this more of the wanting to court thing Lance had pointed out? The other galra hadn’t sold him out over his unauthorized presence in the evidence lockup but breaking into his cell in interrogation and disabling the cameras was a huge risk for what was the equivalent of a training yard infatuation. What kind of game was Virek playing? Keith growled, flattening his ears and wishing he was at least sitting up for whatever was coming.

Virek frowned, debating. Then, slowly, clearly telegraphing his movements, he knelt, arms held out to his sides. He set his datapad on the floor, metal clinking on metal, then reached beneath his cloak with his offhand.

Keith braced himself, prepared for the aide to pull a gun on him, but when he removed his hand from his cloak his fingers were wrapped around the familiar handle of Keith’s blade.

“I actually didn’t peg you as another rebel,” Virek said, sounding amused while Keith gaped at him. “I was hoping to get close to you, try to get you to spill some of Lotor’s secrets, but you only had eyes for the Blue Paladin. Not that I blame you.” His smile had a wry edge to it.

“Lotor,” Keith said slowly, remembering Lance’s declaration that he’d trusted Keith because he’d called the prince by his name. “You’re the rebel operative everyone’s been searching for.”

“Yeah,” Virek agreed. “You really screwed things up for me when you killed Gyrgar.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Look, I’m going to untie you, okay? Then you’re going to take this knife and you’re going to get the riggle out of here and never look back. Lotor is using you to break the Blue Paladin and that can’t happen. If the Galra Empire gains control of Voltron…” he trailed off and shook his head again.

Virek’s posture and mannerisms were shockingly out of character, confident and controlled rather than twitchy and nervous, and it was that drastic change that convinced Keith to nod his acceptance.

The aide scooped up his datapad and approached Keith slowly, still broadcasting every movement. When he was close enough, he typed a quick command into the pad and the cuffs enclosing Keith’s forearms clicked open.

Keith rolled to his stomach immediately, groaning as his strained arms and shoulders were allowed to relax. Already the pins and needles feeling of returning bloodflow was setting in: he hadn’t been bound too long, then. A tick later the cuffs keeping his ankles trapped fell open and he tugged them away with clumsy, tingling fingers.

When Virek settled Keith’s knife next to him and sat back, waiting, Keith was quick to scoop the weapon up and hold it close to him, though his hands weren’t quite recovered enough to get any real grip on it.

“Where’s Lance?” Keith asked finally, pushing himself up to a seated position. Virek didn’t answer right away, instead producing a field ration kit from the depths of his cloak, ripping open the sachet of blue nutrient goo and offering it to Keith. He accepted both the food and the pouch of enriched water that came with it, recognizing his need for energy for the trial ahead.

When Virek brandished a rudimentary medkit as well, Keith shook his head, impatient. “Where is Lance, Virek?” The aide hesitated, the hints of the familiar nervousness showing on his face for the first time since he’d removed his hood.

“Approximately one varga ago, the Chamber was stolen from the room it’s been stored in. The base is in an uproar looking for it and I took the opportunity to come and sneak you out.”

Keith slumped back against the wall, his heart sinking. “Lance is in the Chamber.”

Virek didn’t ask how Keith knew for sure, just nodded and reached again for the med kit. “He was returned to it shortly after Aiphos finished with you here,” he reported, tearing open the protective seal around a disinfectant wipe. When he lifted it to Keith’s cheek, Keith allowed the treatment.

“Lotor sent for it a varga ago, only to discover it had been removed from the suite without authorization. The access codes used to open the door were the generic codes assigned to all custodial staff, logged only a few dobashes before the absence was noticed.”

Keith felt sick with worry, his mind racing with every possible scenario - Lance taken off world, Lance _killed_. He shook his head to clear it, to force himself to focus; the images he used as fuel for the hot, burning anger in his heart.

“Lance is helpless in the Chamber,” Keith said, his voice hard. “I need to find him.” He hissed when Virek stroked the wipe over the wide gash rending his cheek, ears flattening into his hair.

Virek shook his head. “What you need to do is get off-planet. While everyone searches for the stolen cryopod you can put enough distance between yourself and Xorekar Station that Lotor and Aipohs won’t be able to find you. If Lotor loses you he loses his leverage over the Blue Paladin and knowing that you’re safe will bolster Lance’s resolve. It’s the best option we have in this situation.”

Despite his callous words his hands were gentle as they tended to Keith’s wound, stretching a thin, gelatinous bandage over the ruined flesh and smoothing the edges with careful fingers.

The rebel’s logic was sound and Keith knew that if he were able to report to his superiors within the Blade of Marmora that their orders would be the same. It didn’t matter. Keith refused to - could not - leave Lance behind. At the back of his mind the Red Lion rumbled in approval.

Keith closed his eyes, letting Virek tend to his wounds while he turned his attention inward, seeking his connection to Lance. The quiet stillness at the end of their resonant bond, so foreign to Lance’s personality, sent a shiver crawling down Keith’s spine. The fear that this wrongness would be the only thing he would ever feel from Lance again welled up, unbidden and powerful, but Keith quashed it mercilessly. Such fears weren’t helpful and that scenario wasn’t possible. Keith would not allow it to come to pass.

“I’m going to find Lance,” he said finally, eyes flicking open in time to catch Virek’s startled flinch; Keith must have been in the bond longer than he’d realized. “Leaving him to Lotor’s mercy for even another quintet isn’t an option.”

His voice was hard, allowing no doubt or argument. Keith was prepared to insist, to demand, to threaten Virek if he tried to stop him, his grip tightening around his knife, but the aide just gave a resigned little sigh.

“I know,” he said, eyes intent on his work as he smoothed healing balm over Keith’s abraded wrists. “I had to at least try to get you to leave, but I know a lost cause when I see one.” Keith nodded, surprised but grateful. The pair lapsed into silence again while Virek treated Keith’s other wrist.

“Your armor is in a locker in the room at the end of the hall,” Virek said once he’d completed his task. He sat back on his heels, fingers fiddling with a leftover glob of sticky bandage.

“Officially, your access codes and biometric data have been blacklisted in the database. In reality, they’ve been reassigned to an officer currently overseeing a mining operation a few galaxies away, meaning you’ll still be able to get around until someone catches on to what’s been done. I’d suggest avoiding Aiphos, or the other aide. If they find out your codes still work it won’t be a leap to figure out I was involved.

“I’ve also granted you access to a single fighter in the primary bay: the last one on the left, designation GXC-981. The tracking programs are disabled and it’s primed and ready for flight. It will respond to your biometric input so even if your codes are revoked after you’re onboard it should still work for you.”

Keith stared at the aide, shocked and unsure how to respond. Virek flushed and turned away, scrambling to pack away the remaining medical supplies. If he were discovered the price would be his life, and by acting to help Keith he had endangered his rebellion’s operations in Lotor’s ranks. Keith didn’t understand why he would take that chance.

“Why?” he asked. Virek paused in his fumbling with the medkit and met Keith’s eyes, frowning in confusion.

“Why what?”

Keith growled, frustrated. “Why help me? Why go so far as to incriminate yourself, why take the risks? Your position under Lotor’s commander has to be vitally important to the rebellion so why threaten that?”

Virek blinked at him, momentarily thrown by Keith’s candor and irritation, before his expression hardened. When he answered his voice was grim, determined.

“Because this is bigger than shipment schedules and squadron deployments and any other information I might send back to my people. We are fighting a seemingly endless war and while things might feel hopeless now, we will lose any chance of ever being free if the Empire gets its hands on a weapon like Voltron. It will mean the end of everything countless people have been fighting and dying for for ten thousand years. The moment Zarkon has the Legendary Defender is the moment he wins.

“But if you get away, if you can somehow bring Voltron back…” Virek trailed off, searching for words, and Keith recognized the complicated look on the other half-galra’s face, knew what it was to experience hope for the first time. He’d only done so recently himself.

“I understand,” he said softly, and Virek nodded. Keith hadn’t stopped to consider what Voltron was, what it could truly mean to a universe torn apart by war, destroyed by the conquering galra. It was almost terrifying to contemplate, to allow himself to imagine a reality where Zarkon’s rule was threatened, where his Empire could be overthrown.

That reality would never have a chance if he failed to locate Lance and get the altean off of Torpar VII.

“I’ll find the Blue Paladin,” Keith swore. “I’ll get him out of here alive and I’ll take him to his Lion. We’ll bring Voltron back.”

Virek tucked the medkit away beneath his cloak and stood, holding a hand out to Keith. When Keith accepted it Virek pulled him to his feet, surprisingly strong despite his frail appearance. “Then this was all worth the risk,” he said, voice solemn. “Even if I’m discovered, I have no regrets. Voltron is a chance to strike back against Zarkon at last; the real fight begins here and I am honored to have had a role in that.

“Now go. The security feeds in the interrogation block are all looped right now and I’ve deactivated the sentries.”

Keith nodded, but hesitated. There was so much he wanted to know: he had questions about the rebellion; would Virek stay behind or run before his actions could be uncovered? He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more left to be said. There wasn’t time, though. Every tick that passed increased the likelihood that Lotor would find Lance before Keith could. He needed to move.

He reached out to Virek, squeezing the other hybrid-galra’s shoulder briefly before releasing him. And then Keith turned on his heel and exited the interrogation cell.

 

XX

 

Keith leaned around a corner, checking for any signs of patrolling soldiers before he rounded the turn and hurried down the corridor to the left. His ears strained to catch the clatter of armor or approaching footsteps, his hand tight around the handle of his knife and his muscles loose and ready to react to any hint of a threat, but the halls were quiet and empty as he moved through them like a ghost.

None of the robotic sentries stationed in the interrogation block had responded to Keith’s presence at all and his armor had been exactly where Virek had told him it would be. His sword and pistol hadn’t been with the rest of his gear but Keith wasn’t bothered; the time to keep his own blade hidden had passed.

The food the rebel had given Keith must have had some low-level healing properties: the lingering dizziness and heavy-limbed feeling from blood loss were gone and the screaming ache in Keith’s abused muscles had faded to a dull throbbing.

Virek had armed Keith, armored him, and ensured he was combat ready. Everything else was up to Keith.

The first priority was locating Lance, before Lotor could find him or whoever had stolen the Chamber managed to get him out of the station. If Lance was taken off planet - well, Keith would scale that cliff when he reached it.

He cleared three rooms, two of them for storage and the third a requisition depot, with no sign of the Chamber before tucking himself into a tiny supply closet. Keith wedged his body between a tall personnel locker and the drainage basin so that he wouldn’t be immediately visible to anyone opening the little room’s door. Closing his eyes, Keith drew several deep, deliberate breaths, calming his mind.

There. The faintest tug somewhere in the vicinity of his sternum. He’d made it down two hallways searching blindly for Lance before he’d realized that the faint pull he’d felt to Lance the first time he’d seen him hadn’t faded when they’d formed their resonant bond. Keith was able to follow the feeling: it wasn’t as clear as a homing beacon or as direct as coordinates, just a sense of _this way, go this way_ that was enough to tell him he was on the right track.

Keith opened his eyes and eased himself out of his hiding spot, wincing when his foot caught on a bucket and sent it rolling and clanging across the small space. He froze, ears perked and listening intently, but the noise didn’t draw anyone to his closet. He cracked the door open to find the hallway outside still empty and continued his slow, sneaking journey through the base with a little sigh of relief.

When he passed the smaller of the station’s off-duty lounges Keith realized the bond was leading him steadily closer to the hangar bays. His heart seized in his chest and his instincts screamed at him, urging him to _find Lance, find him now_ and it took every ounce of will Keith possessed to resist the need to sprint through the station towards the hangar.

He slipped around another corner and promptly went still at the sound of voices.

“...a lot of guts to steal the prince’s pet,” someone was saying, the words drifting from an open doorway several paces down the corridor from Keith. He flattened himself against the wall and eased his way towards it, peering into what turned out to be a small guard’s station.

“Or not a lot of brains,” a half-galra replied to the pure-blooded soldier Keith had heard from the hall. There were two others in the room, both busy sifting through surveillance footage for any glimpse of the kidnappers. All four soldiers were armed and obviously on the hunt for the Chamber.

Keith was preparing to slink past them, waiting for the chatting pair to turn away so he could dart past the doorway unseen when a line of bright pain bloomed over his left shoulder and across his bicep and he gasped before he could even register that the confusion and fear suddenly clouding his mind were not his own.

He ducked back into the hall but the damage had been done and all four soldiers were advancing on him, weapons drawn but not pointed at him yet. Lance’s fear was already receding though he was still confused. Keith did his best to broadcast reassurance, shoving his worry aside as more tiny lines of pain sparked over his forearms and hands from the bond and the soldiers fanned out in front of him.

“State your rank and designation,” the full galra ordered Keith, scowling down at him, and quiznak but Keith didn’t have time for this. He lifted his knife and threw himself at the galra, closing the distance before he could bring his rifle to bear.

Keith’s knife bit into the soft, poorly protected flesh between the plates of the soldiers armor. He kept himself close to the big galra’s body, using his massive bulk as a shield from the other’s guns. There was shouting and they were closing in on him, surrounding him, and Keith bared his teeth and snarled, willing his blade to lengthen to a sword and catching his opponent across the neck before he could react to the change.

Keith shoved the dying galra’s body sideways, into two of the remaining soldiers and kicked out at the third, catching his knee with a booted foot. The joint folded with a sick crunch and the hybrid galra dropped to the floor, howling, his rifle forgotten. Keith was quick to cut down the final pair of soldiers, swiping first one way then the other to open their throats before he knelt next to the one he’d wounded.

“What do you know about the Chamber’s location?” Keith growled, his blade once again shortened to a knife and pressed beneath the cowering soldier’s jaw. Hot blood dripped from the weapon to splatter over the galra’s thin fur and he cringed, whimpering. “Have you identified the thieves yet?”

The only response he received was a high, reedy whine, the soldier’s terrified eyes fixed on his knife. Keith sighed, impatient.

“Tell me what I need to know and I won’t kill you.” There were no new pains from the resonant bond and Lance’s confusion had clarified to the coiled anticipation of a lion in the grass, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Keith’s answering feral grin only served to unnerve his captive further.

“The-the Chamber was stolen from the officer’s wing just under two varga ago,” he choked out, desperate. “Default janitorial codes were used to access it but they haven’t been used again for the past varga. The last doorway they were used to open was the one to enter this section of the station. That’s all we had! We were going through footage when we heard you, that’s as far as we got! Please don’t kill me!”

The half-galra was outright sobbing by the time he finished speaking, tears dripping down his cheeks to mingle with the scattered flecks of blood from Keith’s knife. Keith stared at him, ears flat to his head, thinking.

They were in the west wing of the base. The custodial codes hadn’t been used since entering the section but if the thief had been hanging out in the hallways with a glowing glass crypod they would have been found already. They must have switched to their private personnel codes, then. As a custodian their clearance would be too low to open very many doors.

Keith pulled up the holographic console built into his armguard and flicked through until a map of the sector was displayed. He blacked out the areas he’d already checked and, after briefly consulting the draw to Lance he still felt in his chest, highlighted the eastern quadrant of the map in gray. This left him with a third of the west wing to search: entirely too much with Lance awake and preparing for a fight.

A flick of his fingers flipped the projection around so the injured soldier could see it from his position on the floor. “Which of these areas have you cleared?” Keith asked, voice low and hard.

The soldier reached out with a trembling finger to point out a series of branching hallways north of their current location. Keith colored those purple, then surveyed the remaining area. A large portion of the space was the primary hangar.

“Why weren’t you searching the bay?” Keith demanded, and the soldier flinched.

“The Lieutenant Commander is personally overseeing the flight deck,” he reported. His voice shook.

Keith’s blood went cold. “Of course she is,” he muttered. “Quiznak.” The soldier winced and then cringed away with a tiny cry when Keith raised his hand, knife glinting in the low light.

“I can’t leave you to call for help,” Keith told him, then brought the hilt of his weapon crashing down on the soldier’s temple, knocking him out cold.

Keith wiped his knife clean on the unconscious soldier’s undersuit and stood, taking off in the direction of the remaining uncolored hallways at a jog. He stopped bothering with stealth or checking rooms as he worked his way through the base. With Lance awake, Keith trusted he would be alerted when he drew near to him.

The number of patrols he encountered increased rapidly as Keith got closer to the hangar but he didn’t waste time trying to avoid them, cutting down the four-person groups of sentries and live soldiers alike without care or mercy. He came across a handful of faces he knew, soldiers he’d trained and eaten and bunked with, but did not allow himself to hesitate. These were Lotor’s forces and they would stop him from reaching Lance. That was the only thing that mattered, the only thing Keith could allow to matter.

He was stepping over a bleeding unilu-hybrid and trying not to remember the look on her face when she’d spoken of her pregnant sister when he was swamped by a sudden riptide of violent satisfaction. The unmistakable _thunk_ of a heavy body striking steel echoed from down the hall and Keith’s heart tripped into double time.

He sprinted towards the door the sound had come from as someone behind it began shouting. He could feel Lance’s satisfaction give way to irritation and slammed his palm on the door’s scanner. It slid open with a beep and Keith barely stepped back in time as the familiar hulking body of Throzt, the bigoted pureblood soldier, slumped into the hall. His head rolled unnaturally on his neck as the body settled, eyes open and unseeing. Dead.

Keith’s eyes caught on Lance almost immediately. The altean was crouched near the center of the room, arms held up and open palms facing forward in the universal signal for ‘I’m unarmed don’t shoot me,’ but his attempt to look harmless was ruined by the feral smile twisting his face, bared incisors lengthened into fangs.

Lance was covered in blood and with his left side turned towards him Keith could clearly make out the ragged tear in the meat of Lance’s upper arm, flesh and muscle rent by something sharp and jagged, likely glass from the shattered Chamber lying against the far wall. The dark skin of his arms and hands was littered with countless smaller, shallower slices and a glance down his legs revealed a number of rips in the fabric of his pants, the flesh beneath torn and bleeding.

If Lance’s wounds weren’t enough to shroud Keith’s vision red with rage, the beam rifle trained on him was.

“Don’t come any closer or I’ll kill the prince’s pet!” the former colonel, Lethox, commanded.

“Did you hear that, Keith?” Lance asked, and Keith could hear the careless amusement in his voice. “He’s going to kill me.”

“No,” Keith said. “He isn’t.” His fingers shifted around the handle of his knife, subtly adjusting his grip. Lance laughed and Keith knew that he was prepared to jump Lethox the moment the galra’s attention wavered, could feel Lance’s eagerness.

Lance’s arm spasmed, sending a cascade of blood drops splattering to the floor from where they’d been pooling in the creases of his skin and muscle and along the edges of his wounds. Keith’s ears twitched towards the sound they made, like a sudden spray of rain, and he was barely aware of the rumbling growl ripping from his own throat.

‘ _No,_ ’ he wanted to tell Lance. ‘ _This one is mine._ ’

Lethox must have recognized the very real danger he was in, because he began to babble. “Just, just take him, okay? This has been hell, it’s not what I expected, he - he killed Throzt - just snapped his neck like it was nothing! I just wanted -”

Keith didn’t care what Lethox wanted. He raised his hand and sent his knife flying with a snap of his wrist. Lethox’s words ended in a choked off gurgle, Keith’s blade buried in his neck. His rifle clattered to the floor a tick before his body followed.

Lance was in Keith’s space before Lethox had stopped moving, tugging frantically at Keith’s armor, speaking so quickly Keith could barely make out the words.

“Lance,” Keith tried, catching the words ‘ _felt what she did_ ’ and ‘ _please be okay_ ’ but the altean didn’t seem to hear him. “Lance!” this time he gripped Lance’s shoulders, releasing him immediately when Lance’s pain seared along his left side. The gesture accomplished its purpose, though, and Lance fell immediately still, meeting Keith’s gaze with wide blue eyes.

“I’m fine,” Keith told him, his voice low and gentle. “No permanent damage was done and I’ve already been treated.”

“No permanent damage?” Lance asked, incredulous. He reached towards Keith’s ruined cheek but cut the gesture off halfway, trembling fingers lingering in the air between them. Keith caught his thin wrist and carefully guided it the rest of the way to his face so Lance could feel the bandage Virek had plastered over the wound.

“I don’t hurt,” Keith said seriously. “I know you feel that I’m telling the truth.”

Lance searched his face with watery eyes for several heartbeats, then nodded. Keith suddenly found himself with an armful of shaking altean and though they both hissed at the pain when Lance’s wounds were jostled Keith couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than hold Lance tighter.

“They crashed the Chamber into the wall,” Lance mumbled into Keith’s neck. “Definitely in the top five rudest awakenings ever. Pair of idiots, but I had no idea who they were or where you were at. Quiznak.”

Keith stroked his fingers through Lance’s hair. “Lethox and Throzt. Pureblood supremacist soldiers turned custodians. They had a grudge against Lotor and stole the Chamber from its room two varga ago.” He felt Lance snort against his neck.

“I finally get to make my great escape and it’s because a pair of janitors got uppity.”

“You were going to be making your escape anyway,” Keith said absently, releasing Lance and stepping back to assess his injuries with a critical eye. The thin clothing Lotor had dressed Lance in hadn’t offered much in the way of protection and the shards of glass from the shattered Chamber had done a number on Lance’s vulnerable skin. The shallowest cuts were already beginning to clot but several gashes were still bleeding freely and would need treatment.

“It all looks worse than it is,” Lance promised, following Keith’s eyes to a wound on his thigh. “Alteans heal fast, a bonus to the shapeshifting. My left arm is in pretty bad shape though.” He grimaced. “It’s going to quiznak my aim with any gun that needs both hands.”

Keith nodded, sparing the bodies of Throzt and Lethox quick once-overs. Lethox had only been armed with the rifle (where had a custodian gotten a firearm?) and Keith couldn’t see any weapons on Throzt. Neither of them had pistols; he would have to take a sidearm from one of the bodies he’d left in the halls.

“Let’s get that wrapped up, at least,” he told Lance, motioning towards his arm and stepping further into the room. The custodians had chosen a small storage room as their hideyhole and Keith carefully read the labels on the crates that lined the walls, searching for anything useful. It was a low-security storage room so there was no hope of finding medical supplies or weaponry but when Keith completed his circuit of the space he rejoined Lance with a thin blanket like the one he’d had on his bunk in the barracks and a fat sachet of the body cleanser used in the sonic showers.

Lance was leaning against the wall by the door and Keith took him by his uninjured arm to lead him gently away from Throzt’s body. He helped Lance get settled atop a crate before drawing his knife and cutting the blanket into strips for crude bindings. Lance grinned when he caught on to Keith’s intentions.

“Old-style cloth bandages huh?” he asked, plucking up a thicker strip and wrapping it around his thigh. “I thought I’d moved forward in time, not back.”

Keith snorted but didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he pointed to the cleanser. “Use that before you wrap them up. If we get off this planet only to have you die of infection the Lions will probably eat me.”

Lance poked his tongue out but obediently unwound the bandage he’d been applying. When he made to reach for the cleanser with his left hand though, he froze, a high whine escaping from between his clenched teeth as a hot bolt of his pain washed over Keith’s shoulder.

“Let me do that,” Keith snapped, fingers gentle as he helped Lance lower his arm back to his side. The wound really was gruesome, blood still oozing sluggishly from the ruined skin, the muscle beneath badly injured. Keith shoved aside worries of permanent damage in favor of trickling the sanitizing cleanser over the gash, wiping the area clean with a folded length of cloth and trying to ignore Lance’s agony screaming down the bond. He could have kicked himself for not thinking to bring a medkit.

“There will be real medical supplies on the fighter craft,” he promised, partly to reassure himself and partly to distract Lance while he worked.

“I thought you couldn’t access the fighters?” Lance’s voice broke halfway through the question and Keith winced, murmuring an apology.

“I had some help.” Finally, he set the cleanser aside and took up a strip of bandage. “This isn’t going to feel so good,” he warned Lance, who made a ‘get on with it’ gesture with his other hand. Keith wrapped the cloth around his bicep quickly, pulling the fabric tight. Lance’s dark skin paled and he closed off his end of their resonant bond abruptly. Keith worked as fast as he dared, winding the bandage around the wound and tying it off.

“Virek?” Lance asked, once he’d caught his breath. Keith stilled, ears flattening in surprise, and Lance offered him a shaky attempt at his usual cocky grin. “He’s as bad with the honorifics as you are.”

“Lotor,” Keith mumbled, and Lance nodded. Keith quickly filled the altean in on Virek’s plan, making short work of treating the remaining injuries.

“We’re not far from the hangar,” he finished, tying off the last bandage. “But Aiphos is probably waiting there for us.”

“Creepy Aiphos. She knew what was going on with our bond, in the suite.”

“Yeah,” Keith said. “It must have to do with that third eye.” Lance shivered.

“It feels gross when she looks at you. I hope we can avoid her; if I'm injured like this she’s going to be a challenge.”

His words reminded Keith of his intention to search the bodies in the hall for a pistol and he ordered Lance to wait while he hurried to look for a weapon. The hybrid-unilu’s pistol was still strapped to her thigh and he sent her a silent apology as he pulled it carefully from its holster and returned to the storage room. Lance’s eyes lit up at the sight of the gun.

“It will have a kill switch, same as before,” Keith warned him as he handed it over. “If we do run into Aiphos it will probably be worthless.” Lance’s expression soured but he nodded, accepting the weapon almost reverently. Keith’s heart tightened in his chest.

“We’re going to get out of here,” he swore. “Lance, you’re going to be free.”

“I am,” Lance agreed. He stood from the crate, head held high. “I’ve waited ten thousand years for this opportunity. I refuse to live even one more quintet as a prisoner.”

Keith could feel the weight of Lance’s determination, his resolve bolstering Keith’s own, and he couldn’t resist tugging the altean into a fast, hard kiss, more teeth and promise than anything. Then he pulled away and led Lance out of the storage room, guiding him to the hangar and everything waiting for them within.

Lance’s aim was every bit as breathtaking as he’d always boasted; when they rounded a corner and spotted a patrol, two of the four-man unit were dead before Keith could even reach them. The third, a robotic sentry, crashed to a sparking heap on the ground a tick after Keith finished off the remaining soldier.

“Not bad for being ten thousand years out of practice,” Lance told Keith with a grin, joining him at the end of the corridor. Keith nodded and although he didn’t say anything he knew Lance could feel how impressed he was. The altean preened and they continued towards the hangar, leaving a trail of devastated patrol squads in their wake.

It didn’t take them long to reach the primary loading bay and though the strain of injury and blood loss was wearing on Lance his grip on his weapon never wavered. Keith motioned for him to wait then peeked around the corner to the final hallway that terminated at the hangar. Two pairs of guards were posted on either side of the heavy double doors to the bay and Keith ducked back into the corridor to relay the details to Lance.

“Two sentries, two living galra. Half-bloods, but huge.” Lance nodded, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. Keith could feel him steeling himself and gathered his own nerves. They were so close.

“I’ll take out the furthest two. You go for the nearer set,” Lance decided. Keith nodded and knelt, preparing to throw himself around the corner and charge his opponents.

There was no need to count down. The resonant bond hummed between them and they moved as one, rounding the corner in sync, Lance’s pistol raised as Keith hurtled down the hallway.

He was three steps down the hall when the doors opened and Lieutenant Commander Aiphos entered the corridor from the hangar, her second aide at her side.

Lance’s alarm spiked with Keith’s before they both settled into the complete, single-minded focus of battle. It was too late to turn back and Keith’s steps didn’t falter as he willed his blade to lengthen.

Keith didn’t need to hear Lance’s command to duck, dropping low to the ground in a running crouch as a trio of violet beams blasted over his head, slamming home in rapid succession in the two furthest guards that had been marked for Lance and the sentry on the side Keith had intended to take. Keith barely had time to note the robot falling to pieces before he was slamming into the half-galra soldier. The soldier caught Keith’s sword on the stock of his rifle but Keith’s momentum knocked him backwards into Aiphos’ aide, sending all three of them to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

He scrambled desperately for the aide’s tablet, hoping to prevent them from activating the kill switch in Lance’s pistol, but he was forced to roll away when the galra soldier attempted to bash his head in with the butt of his rifle.

A beam from Lance’s gun burned past Keith’s face, close enough that he could feel the heat of it, to blast into the soldier’s chest, knocking him back and away. Keith took the opportunity to shorten his blade into the more manageable knife form before throwing himself at the wounded soldier, intent on finding the vulnerable creases in his armor.

The soldier was well trained but he was not skilled enough to withstand a fighter of Keith’s caliber. His defense was solid but uncreative and it only took a tick for Keith to open a hole with a high feint, tossing his dagger to his lower hand when the soldier made to block and stabbing it into the pit of his raised arm, lengthening the blade and driving it into the half-galra’s heart.

Keith ripped his blade free and whirled, swiftly cutting the unarmored aide down, but his brief distraction with the soldier had given them ample time to retrieve their datapad and Keith could feel Lance’s frustration when his pistol died in his hands.

Then he didn’t feel anything but the sick, frigid stare of Aiphos’ third eye as the Lieutenant Commander advanced on him.

The Lieutenant Commander’s three tails moved in distracting, sinuous coils around her, two of them gripping curved daggers. Her face was a mask of hatred as she struck out at him, tail arching over Keith's attempted block to scrape her blade across his armored chest. He slashed at the limb with the claws of his free hand but it whipped easily out of reach, another tail knocking his foot aside when he kicked at her. Her movements were quick and effortless, responding to Keith’s attacks with preternatural speed.

Keith threw himself backwards, moving out of reach of those long, slashing limbs. Aiphos stalked after him, her third eye a gaping pit gouged into the center of her forehead. Its gaze made Keith’s skin crawl, a frisson of revulsion shivering down his spine.

“Traitor!” Aiphos accused him. “You will pay for your treason in flesh.” Her voice was as sharp as a cracking whip, a rake of claws, the drag of a torturer’s knife; suddenly Keith was back in the interrogation block, choking on his own screams as Aiphos sneered profanities and carved her fury into his skin.

He was yanked cruelly into the present when the unarmed tail wrapped around his throat. Keith struggled, straining to get a hand between the appendage and his neck before his air was entirely cut off.

“Keith!” Lance shouted, and then he was there, the knife Keith had given him flashing down towards Aiphos’ back. The remaining tails moved to intercept him, one catching Lance’s knife with its dagger and the other swiping low across his abdomen.

Lance leapt away from the wicked blade before it could disembowel him. He jerked his weapon free from where it was locked with Aiphos’ dagger and struck at her again, changing the angle and redirecting his swing in a convincing feint but Aiphos countered him again, weapons in position almost before Lance could execute the move.

Keith tried to take advantage of the Lieutenant Commander’s distraction, driving his knife towards her unguarded stomach, but he’d been so preoccupied with her tails he’d forgotten to watch for her hands; she’d drawn a third dagger in her right hand and she caught his knife on the weapon with ease.

Keith’s vision was darkening as the tail around his neck tightened, trapping his hand and cutting off what little air he’d been managing to get, and he kicked at Aiphos blindly in desperation. The only thing he could see through the creeping haze of unconsciousness was the glow of Aiphos’ eyes and the dripping black void above them. He slashed out with his knife again and a second tail was already there to intercept him, the blades dragging together with a jarring scream of metal on metal.

He could hear Lance shouting but it was distant, drowned out by Aiphos’ cruel laughter and the furious roar of the Red Lion in his mind. The yellow eyes that made up his vision widened and then wrenched away from him. A tick later agony ripped up Keith’s left arm and the strangling grip on his neck loosened.

Keith sucked in grateful gulps of air as the darkness retreated and reality clarified around him again. Lance’s arms were wrapped tightly around the snarling Lieutenant Commander, effectively trapping both of her arms and one of her tails against her body. He had lost his knife at some point during the fray but had managed to disarm the free tail as well and though it slammed repeatedly into his back and head he didn’t relent, the strength of his grip causing Aiphos’ armor to creak with the strain.

“...the eye!” Lance was shouting at Keith. His left shoulder was a hot mass of torment and his arm was weakening rapidly under Aiphos’ assault. Keith could feel how desperate Lance was, how scared. “It can see our quintessence, it knows what we’re going to do before we do it!”

Aiphos thrashed against Lance’s hold, the tail she’d been trying to strangle Keith with jerking erratically around his neck as she focused on her struggle with the altean, and Keith knew what he had to do. He brought his knife down on the twitching limb with as much force as the awkward angle allowed, hacking at it relentlessly, cleaving flesh and bone until he severed the tail completely. Aiphos keened and her head whipped around, eyes fixing on Keith just in time for Keith to free the hand trapped against his neck and rake his clawed fingers over that oily eye.

The noise Aiphos made when her third eye was blinded would haunt Keith’s darkest nightmares for the rest of his life. His ears flattened to his head in an attempt to drown out the horrific screech and he stumbled back, tugging the length of her ruined tail from his neck and throwing it away from him, wheezing for air. The Lieutenant Commander’s blood was acid-hot through his gloves.

Wailing in anguish, Aiphos was finally able to dislodge Lance, the strength in his left arm spent. Keith couldn’t react in time to help him when the Lieutenant Commander hurled Lance across the corridor, his skull cracking against the steel of the far wall. There was a split-tick of pain from their resonant bond before it cut off abruptly, swallowed by silence. Lance didn’t get up and Keith’s heart seized.

Keith tried to rush to the altean’s side but Aiphos stepped in front of him, snarling. Her ruined eye wept blood, black and viscous, over the contorted features of her face, more of the hot liquid pouring from the stump of the tail Keith had hacked away to pool at her booted feet in tacky puddles.

“Betrayer!” she shrieked, mad with pain and rage, and charged at Keith, slicing towards his face with the dagger in her right hand and raking at his belly with the claws of her left. Keith ducked under the dagger, catching her claws with his armored shoulder, then nimbly sidestepped the tail that swept low to trip him.

His blade glowed as it expanded to its full length and he parried the driving attack from the dagger held by Aiphos’ tail, whipping his sword around and down in a flashy maneuver that had the Lieutenant Commander bringing up both daggers to counter it. The move left her open to the devastating kick Keith drove into her gut; the force of it made Aiphos stumble back several steps. She tripped over the coil of her severed tail and Keith’s smile was feral, all violence and fangs.

Keith stalked towards Aiphos as she climbed back to her feet, made slow by blood loss and exhaustion. An indigo sheen flashed down the length of Keith’s sword when he slashed at her and though she caught the blow before it could rend her open from shoulder to hip the block was ill-timed and sloppy. Keith’s next attack bit into the meat of a writhing tail, none of the agility or precision she’d displayed at the beginning of the fight in her movements.

Aiphos had possessed the ability to see a being’s life-energy and had used her gift to cause irreparable harm.

Keith stepped in close, slashing at her with his sword and hooking his heel behind her ankle to rip her leg out from under her when she parried his blow. Aiphos went down again and this time Keith did not allow her the chance to stand. When her tail came at him, stabbing clumsily with its dagger, Keith cut it off with a flash of his blade.

“You were right,” he told her over her screams, his voice dragging painfully over his damaged throat. “Serving Lotor did alter the course of my entire life - in ways I never would have imagined. I guess I owe that to you.” Then, without a hint of hesitation or remorse, Keith wrapped both hands around the hilt of his sword and drove the point of it down, through the plating of her armor and into her black heart.

Keith didn’t take the time to pull his blade from Aiphos’ lifeless body, just willed it back into a knife and bolted towards Lance. There was a hazy awareness at the end of their resonant bond that told him Lance was alive and slowly beginning to stir and when Keith knelt beside the altean’s crumpled form and saw Lance’s chest rising and falling with his breaths his own limbs went slack with relief.

He reached out for Lance, intending to check the back of his head for breaks in his skull, but grimaced at the sight of Aiphos’ black blood dripping from his fingers. The body of the aide he’d killed was nearby and Keith hurried to them to cut away a long stretch of their uniform and wiped away the blood. Aiphos’ blood was uncomfortably hot even through his gloves, he wouldn’t risk it harming Lance’s bare skin. It wouldn’t surprise him if it had been acid that had flowed through the wicked half-galra’s veins. He noticed Lance’s knife lying near the aide’s corpse, lost during the altean’s struggle with Aiphos, and grabbed it, tucking it securely into his boot.

Returning to Lance, Keith eased his fingers through the alteans’ matted brown curls. He was careful, as gentle as he knew how to be as he searched for signs of damage. Keith blew out a gusty sigh of relief when he found none, just a large knot, the area hot and swollen. Through their bond he could feel Lance slowly coming around. He was likely concussed but the medkit on the fighter would have a treatment for him.

Keith bit at his lower lip, briefly conflicted. Trying to move Lance in the state he was in was dangerous and stupid: Keith’s quick assessment was in no way a clean bill of health and head traumas could become very deadly very fast if handled incorrectly, he knew. They were rapidly running out of time, however. Keith didn’t know why no alarms had been sounded during his fight with Lieutenant Commander Aiphos (though he suspected Virek was to thank for the reprieve) but it couldn’t last. It was only a matter of time before more soldiers found them.

There really wasn’t much of a choice. Tucking his knife into his belt and sending up a quick prayer that he wasn’t making anything worse in Lance’s scrambled brain Keith hefted his partner onto his back. Lance was surprisingly heavy despite his slimmer build and arranging his long limbs was awkward and more than a little frustrating but eventually Keith managed to get him situated. Lance was draped over his back, Keith’s hands under Lance’s thighs to keep them on either side of his waist and Lance’s arms hanging over Keith’s shoulders.

Lance’s hot breaths puffed against his neck and the little zings from the contact reassured Keith that Lance was alive, that he was going to be okay.

“Come on,” Keith said to his unconscious partner. “We’re almost there.” He hefted Lance’s weight a little higher on his back and carried him to the double doors into the hangar, swiping his palm against the scanner. When they slid open for him he stepped through, resolved to carry Lance far away, to freedom.

Stars help anyone who got in his way.

 

XX

 

Predictably, the primary hangar’s blast doors were closed. The bay itself was crawling with guards intent on preventing anyone from leaving the base with Lotor’s missing prisoner. It didn’t matter; nothing could have prepared them for Keith. He crept between the lifeless shells of ships and shuttles, sneaking past the soldiers that he could, hiding Lance in shadowed nooks and crannies while he cut down those that he couldn’t. Every sense was on high alert; Keith refused to allow himself to be taken by surprise, refused to slip up and be injured in a fight. Lance was dangerously vulnerable and the smallest mistake might cost Keith his partner’s life.

Keith was settling Lance onto his back again after a brief scuffle with a pair of sentries when the altean choked out a groan. Keith’s ears flicked towards the sound and his heart squeezed; he felt almost dizzy with relief when Lance’s confusion filtered down their resonant bond.

Doing his best to project reassurance, Keith turned his head to brush his lips across Lance’s smooth cheek. “Hey,” he whispered against the warm skin. “You’re okay. You’re alright.”

Lance groaned again, still confused in a way that made Keith’s stomach clench in anxiety, but he let out a sweet little sigh when Keith’s mouth pressed to the blue crescent of his life-line where it curved under his fluttering eyes. “Keith?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” Lance’s relief eased some of the sick worry in Keith’s gut.

“Aiphos?”

“Dead. You remember fighting her?” Lance answered with a quiet affirmative - that he could remember the fight was a very good sign. “We’re almost out of here, okay? I’ve got you.”

Lance made a tiny noise Keith couldn’t decipher but his right arm tightened around Keith’s shoulder, helping to keep himself in place as Keith resumed his slow journey through the hangar.

Keith had to put Lance down twice more before they reached the line of single-pilot fighter craft, the altean becoming increasingly more alert with every dobash until he was trying to insist he could walk on his own. The way Keith could feel Lance’s legs trembling where his hands supported them said otherwise but their quiet bickering did a lot to soothe Keith’s frayed nerves.

The security was far more lax in this area of the bay: each fighter would respond only to its corresponding pilot so the threat of theft was deemed negligible. Keith sent more silent thanks to Virek and hoped the rebel would make it off of the base alive.

 

XX

 

“Last one on the left,” Keith muttered, staring out at the rows upon rows of ships parked in the bay. There were nearly a thousand of them and Lance snorted, tapping the heel of his foot against Keith’s thigh.

“How are we supposed to know which left?” he asked. “Our left facing the doors or the left facing away from them?” If Keith’s hands hadn’t been full of altean he would have dropped his head into them. As it was, his ears twitched in frustration and he blew out an irritated sigh.

“Let’s start with the left from this direction. We’re looking for number nine-eight-one.”

“We’ll get there faster if you let me walk, you know.”

“No. We really won’t.” Keith could feel Lance’s pout where it was pressed to the tender, bruised skin of his neck and didn’t bother to hide his smile, knowing Lance couldn’t see it.

They were half-way down the long line of ships closest to the west wall when there was a commotion at the entrance. Perched on Keith’s back, Lance went very still, his muscles tensing, and Keith stopped, listening as the sudden clamor of noise resolved into shouts of alarm.

“The Lieutenant Commander is dead!”

“They’ve got to be in here somewhere!”

“Aiphos has been murdered!”

“Keith,” Lance said, and there was an urgency in his voice that spurred Keith into action. He set off down the line again, kicking into a jog that made Lance jostle and bounce on his back with every step. Above them an alarm began to blare.

“Keith,” Lance said again. “We’ll go faster if you aren’t carrying me. I can run, I promise.” Keith ignored him, pushing himself to move more quickly as an automated voice announced a lockdown of the hangar.

In the distance Keith could hear the thunder of armored footsteps on steel and the shouted exclamations as the bodies he’d left behind him were discovered. He growled, irritated with his own carelessness; he’d left the soldiers a quiznaking path to follow. The steps were growing closer, moving faster than Keith was able to while carrying Lance’s weight.

“Keith!” Lance began to kick at him, frustration and the first stirrings of fear echoing down their resonant bond. Keith was so tired of feeling Lance’s fear, hated that he had so much cause to be afraid.

“Alright! I’ll put you down,” he snapped when Lance’s blunt teeth clamped around the sensitive leather of his ear. “But don’t fall behind.” He stopped, easing Lance’s legs down until his partner could stand on his own feet, his hands gentle despite the urgency.

Lance wavered briefly, his legs trembling for a moment but holding, and then he shot Keith a cocky smile. “Just try to keep up, Furry-Ears.” Challenge issued, he took off down the line of fighters, his long legs eating the distance quickly. Keith couldn’t resist sprinting after him, able to move much more easily without Lance’s ungainly mass on his back.

Exhaustion was weighing on them both though and it wasn’t long before they were spotted. For a heart-stopping tick Keith feared they would be gunned down; a violet laser streaked over his shoulder to burn into the steel floor ahead of him and Lance gasped out a curse, already panting for air. He’d lost too much blood to be running for his life and dodging gunfire was well beyond his capabilities. Quiznak, it was beyond Keith’s capabilities too, drained as he was.

Fortunately, someone among their pursuers recognized them as priority prisoners, to be kept alive at all costs, and no more shots were sent their way.

The last craft on the end was in sight and Keith’s field of vision narrowed down to the indistinct blur that was its designation and serial number, painted along the side of the cockpit.

Three more steps and the blur was legible. GXC-981. They’d chosen the correct left, thank the stars above.

Two more steps and Lance’s weakened legs finally gave out.

“No. Lance, no! We’re too close. We’re too close!” They were nearly overrun. Keith hooked his hands under Lance’s arms and hauled him up, barely breaking stride, pushing and shoving him forward, closing the distance between them and the fighter that would take them to safety.

Keith couldn’t hear their pursuers over the hammering of his heart or the encouraging, commanding roar of his Lion, urging him to go faster, faster, to keep _moving_.

A few more stumbling steps and the hatch at the back of the fighter slid open, programmed to respond to Keith’s biometric signature. The shouting behind him turned shocked, frantic, and Keith shoved Lance onto the ship ahead of him as hands closed over his shoulders and around his arms.

“Keith!” Lance shouted and then Keith was being dragged backwards, pulled away from Lance again and he struggled, desperate, clawing at the hands that were tearing him away from the one he loved while Lance reached for him, reached out to him, his beautiful face a mask of horror.

Keith screamed, thrashing in the soldier’s holds as he remembered that face behind cold glass, still as death. They were going to take Lance back there, lock him away again. Keith was going to fail him, was going to break the oath he’d sworn to get Lance to Blue, to freedom.

The crescents under Lance’s eyes suddenly lit up from within, glowing like twin stars in the dim hangar, the life-lines curving over the rest of his body following suit. Keith had never seen them so bright, almost painful to look at, incandescence carved into his dark skin. His face changed like Keith had noticed it do once before, the alteration of his features difficult to describe except to say that they were more feline - leonine. He snarled, revealing sharpened teeth, and then _roared_ in a way that wasn’t like Lance at all.

The Red Lion rumbled an answer in Keith’s mind and he knew that this was the Blue Lion, lending Lance her strength. Keith could feel it rolling off of Lance, flooding their resonant bond with an energy that was at once both foreign and familiar.

The soldiers restraining Keith were well trained but their conflicting orders - do not harm Lance, do not allow Lance to escape - were causing some confusion. A few of them continued to struggle with Keith but several of the soldiers drew their weapons, recognizing that Lance had abruptly become the most dangerous thing in the room.

“Release him,” Lance growled. “I won’t ask a second time.” His fingers lengthened into wicked claws.

More of the galra let go of Keith to reach for their weapons.

Lance moved then, almost too fast for Keith to follow and far too quickly for their enemies to react. He targeted the soldiers holding Keith first and Keith took advantage of the distraction to tear himself out of their holds, kicking and clawing until he could break away from the soldiers who had tried to take him from Lance.

The shining lines in Lance’s skin left after-images in the air as he continued his assault on the dozen galra soldiers who had surrounded them, all signs of his earlier fatigue gone and his movements graceful and controlled. He snapped a soldier’s neck with a harsh jerk then ducked a swinging sword, hurling the dead soldier at a trio of riflemen that were trying to get a bead on him. Lance was a force of nature - he took Keith’s breath away.

Keith drew his knife, preparing to help Lance despite his own exhaustion when the double doors at the opposite end of the hangar opened and an entire company of soldiers marched through, General Zethrid at their head.

“Lance!” There was nothing but bloodlust and righteous fury from Lance’s end of their bond and Keith desperately hoped his partner could recognize just how critical their situation was. “We need to go now.”

A beam from a pistol seared through the air dangerously close to Lance’s pointed ear and he snarled, whipping around to face the grim-faced soldier who had fired at him as she lined up another shot.

Desperate, Keith reached out to Lance with both hands and felt the fire of his own quintessence, intensely hot and all-consuming, burn down their connection to the roiling tempest Lance had become. For an endless moment the waves of Lance’s fury - the Blue Lion’s fury - swallowed him and Keith feared he would drown in it but he didn’t pull away. He would never leave Lance behind.

The storm of the Lion’s power died as quickly as it had come on and the endless sea of Lance’s quintessence calmed abruptly, retreating harmlessly from Keith’s burning shores. Now Keith did pull away, back into himself, blinking his eyes open in time for Lance to barrel into him and drive the both of them back into the tiny cockpit of the fighter. The sensors logged the pilot’s presence on board and the doors of the hatch hissed shut, sealing them inside.

Dim red lights flickered into being around them and the ship’s console hummed to life, waiting for Keith’s commands. Lance was sprawled on top of him, no longer glowing, unmoving beyond the tremble in his overtaxed muscles and his heaving chest as he gulped down lungfuls of air.

There was no time to feel relieved: they weren’t out yet. Keith rolled Lance’s unresisting form off of him, ignoring his groan of protest, and climbed to his feet. The short journey took almost more strength than he had left to give but he made it into the pilot’s seat, swiping his fingers over the console’s switches to prepare the craft for takeoff. The machine hummed around him and Keith couldn’t help the little thrill he felt, knowing that soon he would be flying again.

Keith fired up the ship’s thrusters, warming them up for a speedy takeoff. On the viewscreen, the soldiers surrounding the ship were backing away to avoid the heat of them and Keith smiled, triumphant. With the fighter ready to fly, Keith reached above him to hit the control for the hangar doors.

They didn’t respond, and he hit it again, his heart sinking when he remembered the lockdown announcement. Outside the craft, Zethrid had reached them, accompanied by several members of the flight deck crew equipped with heavy devices designed to hook on his ship’s wings and prevent it from taking off.

Keith couldn’t allow the galra to attach the weighty machines to his craft. Lance and the Blue Lion had bought him the opportunity to keep fighting when he’d thought all hope had been lost and he would make it count, no matter the cost.

Determined, Keith seized the fighter’s controls and slammed on the thrusters, sending his tiny craft rocketing up towards the hangar’s high ceiling. A tick before they could collide with the beams supporting the roof Keith smoothly changed directions, looping his ship around the massive room. Several of the soldiers below fired up at them but Keith was able to avoid the bulk of the shots, his flying skills no less sharp despite the phoebs since he’d been in a pilot’s seat.

Keith’s ears flicked towards the sound of Lance’s mumbled curse before the altean appeared over his shoulder, clinging to the back of his seat for support.

“I hope you have a plan,” he said, his face uncharacteristically grim. Keith fired off a few shots at the hangar doors as he swept by but there wasn’t much hope there: the blast doors had been designed to withstand barrages from far larger guns than Keith’s tiny fighter possessed.

A holographic vidscreen flickered to life to Keith’s left and they were greeted by the familiar easy smile and bald head of his friend Haz. Behind him, Keith could just make out a pair of unmoving flight deck officers and the sparking remains of several sentries.

“Hothead!” he called and Keith stared, his mouth open in shock. “A mutual buddy mentioned you might need someone to hold the door for you.”

On cue, the massive blast doors began to part, flooding the hangar bay with a slowly-widening beam of sunlight.

“Oh,” the other hybrid continued. “And your fellow flyers out there might have some trouble getting off the ground. You know they install kill switches in the ships, too? Lucky they teach the weapon’s clerks how to work those things.”

“Haz?” Keith asked. He didn’t understand why the other half-blood was helping him but he turned abruptly back towards the exit, aiming for that bar of light and the salvation just beyond.

Haz leaned back in his seat and tucked his massive hands behind his head, grin fading to a more solemn expression. “Watched my mother die never understanding what it meant to be free,” the half-balmeran said. “Knowing what you and your Paladin could mean for people like her, I couldn’t sit by and do nothing when there was a way I could help you escape.”

Keith and Lance were through the doors, out into the yawning yellow sky, rising rapidly through the atmosphere. On the screen, the control room filled with soldiers pointing rifles at his friend. Keith’s heart ached and Lance’s hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing in silent support.

“I’ll make it count, Haz,” Keith swore, struggling to get the words out past the tight knot of emotion in his throat. “I promise.”

The screen vanished, the call disconnected, but not before Keith could catch Haz’s broad smile and his confident, “I know you will, Hotshot.”

And then they were completing their ascent up through the stratosphere and out into space, Torpar VII shrinking rapidly behind them. They’d made it.

They were free.

 

XX

 

Keith flew for several varga, pushing the fighter craft as hard and as fast as it could safely handle. He was directionless, intent only on putting as much distance between his ship and Xorekar Station as he could manage; if Lotor caught up to them and followed them to the Blue Lion’s hiding place it would be a disaster. He refused to even contemplate the possibility of Lotor taking them prisoner again.

Lance had raided the ship’s medkit and Keith had allowed him to replace the dirty gel bandage on the cheek Lotor had carved into, dutifully sucking down the sachets of enriched nutrient goo and water that Virek had left for them. The packs had possessed the same healing properties as the food Virek had given him in his interrogation cell a few varga (a lifetime) before.

Finally feeling comfortable enough with their progress to lean back in his seat, Keith looked down at Lance. His partner was sprawled on the floor at his feet, his eyes closed. Keith knew he wasn’t asleep; he could feel Lance’s complicated emotions from their bond as the altean struggled to come to terms with his new reality.

After ten thousand years of imprisonment Lance was free. He didn’t seem to know how to feel.

Keith nudged Lance’s hip with a booted foot and blue eyes blinked open to meet his. Lance’s smile when their gazes met sent a burst of warmth to Keith’s heart and his own lips tugged upward in response.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You wanna put in Blue’s coordinates?”

Lance was up on his feet before Keith even finished speaking, taking up a position beside Keith’s chair and leaning over him to bring up the navigation controls.

Keith took the opportunity to look Lance over. He’d been focused too intently on flying them to safety to inspect Lance’s handiwork with the medkit before but he could see now that Lance had known what he was doing. His injured arm had been pronounced ‘unlikely to need amputating’ and the frayed strip of bedding Keith had bound it with originally had been replaced by a real medical bandage, a high-tech device intended to be applied to traumatic wounds. His lesser injuries were covered by the same foggy gelatin that was spread over Keith’s cheek and his clear gaze told Keith Lance taken something to ease his aching head. No pain filtered down their bond and that was enough to put Keith at ease.

Lance punched in a long series of coordinates with nimble fingers, humming to himself. When he leaned back, satisfied, Keith swiped the database information for the planet he’d indicated onto the main screen.

“System designation X-9-Y,” he read aloud. “The planet was charted by the Empire but was flagged as lacking any resources worth pursuing.”  
  
Lance laughed. “If only they knew, huh?” He quieted, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. “It’s a beautiful planet,” he said softly. “I picked it because it was blue. I wanted my Blue Beautiful to have that much, at least.”

Keith stared at the tiny image of the planet. _‘No resources worth pursuing,’_ the Empire had decided.

The hope of the entire universe waited there for the Paladin standing beside him.

He turned. Lance’s head was still bent close to his and he caught the corner of the altean’s mouth with his own, reveling in the heat, the contact. Lance immediately shifted to face Keith, aligning their mouths for a real kiss, unhurried and sparking, a supernova in slow motion.

Lance pulled away first, barely, resting his forehead against Keith’s, his eyes closed and his panting breaths washing over Keith in little puffs of warmth. Their resonant bond hummed between them.

Keith reluctantly broke the silence. “So we go find Blue,” he said. “What then?”

Opening his eyes, Lance leaned back a little to speak. “We find the Lions, find the remaining three pilots, and form Voltron.” His voice was confident, assured, as if it would be no trouble at all to locate the ships Zarkon had been unable to find for ten thousand years.

Keith opened his mouth to point out that he was bonded to the Red Lion and still had no idea how to find him when Lance’s lips stretched into a wicked smile, his expression so unbearably smug that Keith’s entire train of thought was derailed.

“What?” he asked, unnerved.

“Did you know, I told them - Zarkon, Haggar, Lotor - quiznak, I told anyone who asked for ten thousand years that I knew something that they didn’t?”

Keith frowned and nodded, motioning towards the planet still projected on the screen. He’d heard Lance say as much to Lotor at least a half-dozen times, tone taunting and superior. “Yeah,” Keith said slowly. “Blue’s location.”

Lance’s grin, impossibly, widened further. Even the angle of his pointed ears seemed self-satisfied. “That wasn’t the secret, not really,” he purred. “The real secret is how we’re going to find all of the Voltron Lions.”

Keith blinked, surprised. It was his understanding that each Paladin had hidden their Lion away independently of the others, so that even if one location was compromised the others would remain protected.

Lance wasn’t done. He leaned back in, close to Keith, and the brush of his lips on the delicate shell of Keith’s sensitive ears sent heat dripping down his spine as Lance shared the truth he’d guarded for ten thousand years.

“I’m not the last altean.”

 

**THE BEGINNING**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! And we're finished!
> 
> I have some plans to rewrite the first episode of the show, The Rise of Voltron, to make this story fit right into the rest of the show but in case I never get around to it, some final notes:
> 
> Hunk can't bring himself to leave his teammate Pidge to rescue Shiro from the Galaxy Garrison alone, so together they break the pilot out and spirit him away to a shack in the desert Hunk had noticed on a map once. They spend the night there freaking out, taking care of the unconscious Shiro, and pouring over some weird energy readings Pidge's equipment picks up.
> 
> Shortly before dawn the next morning, another small alien ship crashes near their shack and they meet the bickering duo, Keith and Lance.
> 
> Shiro recognizes Keith as a galra but the trio of humans believe them when they insist they're hoping to fight against Emperor Zarkon - but they have to find Lance's ship to form Voltron first.
> 
> Things look a little different from when Lance stashed Blue (by my calculations Blue was hidden around the end of the last ice age, given that altean years aren't quite the same as human years) but Hunk has a machine that can track the energy readings and the five of them set out to find the Blue Lion. From there, the adventure begins!
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who offered me kudos and comments and so much encouragement while I worked on this piece !

**Author's Note:**

> Galra!Keith's appearance in this is completely based on the design by caseydambro on tumblr! If you somehow aren't following her, you should go check her out. Her Keith really inspired this piece. :)


End file.
